


Letters

by JOBrien42, kcat1971



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JOBrien42/pseuds/JOBrien42, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcat1971/pseuds/kcat1971
Summary: Josh Lyman gets stranded in the middle of Nevada during the early stages of the Santos Campaign.  His thoughts turn to his estrangement from Donna, and he starts writing her letters.  Lyrics from "Letters" by Enter the Haggis, from the album The Modest Revolution.





	1. Not Too Young To Die

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crash Landing](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/486403) by lcf328. 



“I guess that wasn’t the right turn after all,” said Ned Carlson, looking up from the map.

“You think?” Josh Lyman exclaimed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel to the point that his knuckles popped under the strain. 

Ned shrank from the anger of his campaign manager. They were only in its second month, and he had tried to avoid the irascible former Deputy Chief of Staff as much as possible. But when Josh had gotten tied up in a meeting in Salt Lake City and had missed the campaign flight to Reno, and the Congressman had left Ned with him to help drive the eight hours to Carson City.

It had gone wrong when he’d decided to take a little side trip to a former mining town. Ned was originally from Rochester, Texas, and had made it his life’s quest to visit every other Rochester in the United States. He’d managed to get the easy ones - in New York, Minnesota, and Illinois. He’d snuck the hour north to Rochester, New Hampshire while they were campaigning in Nashua. And when, a little after 4 am, when Josh could no longer keep his eyes open and let Ned take a driving shift, he thought he could get to Nevada’s Rochester - a ghost of an old mining town a half hour east off the I-80 - without too much trouble. He didn’t know when he’d get the opportunity again.

He’d made it to Lower Rochester just as the sun was rising, and he took his picture quickly. He’d hoped to get back on the road without waking the exhausted man in the passenger seat, but the door chime on the rental car betrayed him.

Ned had tried to deflect, suggesting he’d pulled off to find a place to empty his bladder, but Josh quickly sussed out the lie. Incensed to find there was no cell service to inform the Congressman, Josh demanded that Ned surrender the wheel and handle the map as he drove them. Them combination of one man’s impatience and irritation and another’s flustered hesitation sent them barreling down the wrong dirt road as soft snow flakes began to fall.

Josh swore. They were on a one lane road in hilly terrain with sheer drop off to their right for much of it. He looked for any place to turn around and grew increasingly frustrated. Ned, for his part, had grown proportionally silent, cowering from the now legendary temper of Josh Lyman. 

A gap finally appeared to their left, a muddy stretch between the road and the hillside, and Josh immediately took the opportunity. He pulled in quickly, beginning a three point turn, only to have the front right tire break through a shadow-obscured sheet of ice that coated a deceptively deep puddle. He may have subconsciously noted the muffled warning from Ned, but in his anger he’d blocked the man almost completely out. He cursed, throwing the Civic into reverse, only for the right tire to spin helplessly, and the left to start digging its own rut in the soft mud.

He muttered to himself and got out to take a look, muttering a series of expletives the whole way. “All right, Ned, I’m going to need to you to push while I try to rock it out of there.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re an aide. Aid me,” snapped Josh. “Besides, this whole sightseeing excursion was your idea anyway.”

Still cowed by his companion’s towering anger, Ned moved to the hood of the car as Josh got behind the wheel. He crouched down, and gave a timid nod. Josh applied the gas and Ned pushed with all his strength, resulting in little more than a splatter of mud on his overcoat.

In his stubbornness, Josh kept at it for a few more minutes, trying forward and back. Then he told Ned to take the wheel and tried his hand at pushing, an experiment that ended when he felt a popping sensation in his back.

He staggered back to the car and slumped into the passenger seat. He reached back awkwardly for his book bag and pulled it up to him. He unzipped the smaller compartment and fished around, his hand finally closing on a nearly empty bottle of Advil. When he got out of this predicament, he’d have to remind Donna to get a new-.

The sudden ache in his heart eclipsed the radiating pain in his back. 

He took the remaining two pills and downed them with a mouthful of cold coffee. “Well, this sucks,” he commented to Ned.

The man looked over at him, startled at the lack of vitriol in his voice. “Y-yeah.”

“No cell service. Stuck in the mud. Miles from nowhere.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ned.

“I’m just saying, it’s your fault,” Josh said, “I want that made perfectly clear. When they find our corpses the next time someone makes their way down this godforsaken road, I’m going to have a note blaming you for this on the dash.”

“You don’t think we’re stranded here, do you?”

Josh looked at him incredulously. “How the hell should I know for sure? It’s my first time in the forgotten wastes of Nevada. I just hope Ronna gets the Congressman to the DNC event on time. We need a strong showing here.”

He looked down at his phone again, at the “Searching for signal” text, before reluctantly turning it off. The battery wouldn’t last long without service.

They sat in silence for a while. Josh read some briefing papers he had stashed in his backpack, highlighting some things and jotting down notes in the margins. Ned kept his silence, trying to remain as inconspicuous as he could. After a half hour, Josh started arguing with a briefing memo.

“Why the hell would Hoynes take the family values tack on the West Coast? It may play in the South, but those states are going Republican anyway. He needs to hammer Russell for being weak, for having the personality of wet cardboard, for having been picked by the damn Republican party and being owned part and parcel by business interests!” he ranted, “Except not that, because you’re John Hoynes and you’ve never seen a corporate check you wouldn’t cash. But you don’t go family values when you resigned in disgrace! I don’t care if you went on Barbara Walters or Oprah with your book and bawled your eyes out, you can’t do it!”

“Er,” said Ned.

“It’s rhetorical,” Josh cut him off. “Believe me that I will make it very clear if I need your opinion on something.”

Ned started to retort, but bit his tongue. He didn’t want to be here. Not in this car with Josh Lyman, Bartlet’s Bulldog and the terror of the Hill. Not on this quixotic campaign Lyman had convinced Matt to go on. It was all pointless, and while he’d made a mistake in his desire to visit Rochester, the tantrums and guilt this jerk kept throwing at him were beyond the pale.

It was just past two in the afternoon when things came to a head. Josh was flipping out about the fundraising meetings he was missing, about how they needed every cent they could get and how Ned’s foolish quest may have doomed the campaign. Ned, tired of the invectives hurled his way, found a measure of self respect, grabbed his coat and his briefcase and started walking down the road.

“Yeah, go ahead and run away!” Josh shouted after him, though he was already out of earshot. “You’ll never make it in this business if you don’t grow a spine!”

He ranted for a few more minutes, and then collapsed back into his seat. The Advil had worn off, and his lower back burned with pain. If he was honest, it was probably for the best that Ned had left. He was in no shape to walk anywhere, and he might end up strangling the poor guy if they were stuck in the car together for much longer.

He studied the papers he had for another couple hours, and then booted up his laptop. He checked the battery - 93% - more than his phone. He read a few downloaded e-mails, and went over a spreadsheet of media buys, looking up every few minutes to see if could see a car or truck coming along, or Ned returning from his walkabout.

He knew he’d been too hard on him. Had been pretty much from the beginning. Ned was perfectly serviceable for Congressman’s aide, but Josh had dragged both Ronna and him along on the whirlwind of a national campaign, and it was becoming clear that the man was not up to the challenge. But the campaign wasn’t exactly being overwhelmed with volunteers at the moment and there was the old cliché about beggars and choosers.

Josh snapped the lid of the laptop shut and leaned back against the car seat, focusing his breathing to try to manage the pain in his back. He wondered idly if Ned would even bother telling any potential rescuers that he was stranded here. They had disagreements, sure, but he didn’t think anyone who had earned the trust of Matt Santos would just leave someone to die. Even if they were as big a jackass as Josh Lyman.

Hours passed, with neither traffic nor the erstwhile campaign aide making an appearance. The temperature was dropping noticeably, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself and wrapped his scarf around his neck. There was a half tank of gas or so left. He could run the heat for a bit if needed, how long he had no idea. 

Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and turned the ignition key. A short while later, blessed heat came flowing out the vents, warming his frozen toes and fingers. He opened his laptop again, and started an e-mail.  


_Dear mom,_

_Well, I really screwed up this time. Stuck in the middle of Nevada. I’m looking forward to you yelling at me for this. We’ll be sure to have a few laughs at how useless I am._

_If not… well, my affairs are mostly in order. I know Donna and I haven’t exactly been friends lately but I still want…_

Josh looked at the screen, and started hitting backspace repeatedly, erasing the last line. He chewed on his lip as he pondered what to say.

_If you’re reading this and we’re not laughing about it, I’m really sorry to leave you like this. I have a will - at Debevoise, of course. I made it after Rosslyn. You’ll be taken care of, at least financially. I know she left me, but I still mean the parts for Donna…_

He stared at the blinking cursor. Delete, delete, delete. His mom would know what to do. She cared for her as much as he did.

_Anyway, I love you so much and I am sorry for letting you down and never giving you grandchildren or quitting to be a lawyer like dad or just taking a job in the private sector where I don’t get shot at or end up stranded in the middle of nowhere. Except maybe not the latter; I love what I do, mom, and I’m good at it._

_your loving son,  
Joshua_

He hit send, partly out of habit, and closed the laptop. He figured if someone found his computer and returned it to the Santos team, the message would get to its destination.

He looked out the window, down the road, catching the beginnings of a brilliant sunset. He’d been there all day and no one had come by. Maybe no one ever did, and he really would die out here. He again wished he hadn’t been so rough with Ned. He really wasn’t a bad guy, just out of his depth. And it’d be nice to have someone with him to talk to, to share this sunset with.

Somehow he always knew he was going to die alone.

He swallowed, and opened the laptop again. 65% showing now, but he had to do this. He began to type.

_Dear Donna…_

——

_Lost, farewell_  
_under this sinking sun_  
_in an ocean of sky_  
_dust and bones_  
_echoes of rusty guns_  
_i'm not too young to die_


	2. Letter 1 - A Last Dance in this Amber Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh's first letter to Donna, a long overdue apology.

_Dear Donna,_

_I never said I’m sorry._

_I guess that’s what this is. The apology you deserved months ago. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you more responsibilities. I’m sorry you felt the need to quit in the middle of the bullpen that day. I’m sorry I missed all those lunches or that I ever made you feel like you were anything less than the amazing person you are._

_And I’m so incredibly sorry you aren’t with me on the Santos campaign, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of nowhere right now._

_You did leave and I’m not going to lie to you and say it doesn’t still hurt like hell, but I understand now you had to go. Watching you on the campaign trail, where you’ve grown so much without me, so I guess I really was holding you back. I promise you I didn’t think I was. I really thought working in the White House with me was enough. I tried to give you as much responsibility as I could, but it’s pretty clear now you had more in mind than anything I could offer. I just wish all that growth was for us instead of Bingo Bob. I meant that, when we talked in New Hampshire. I need someone to rely on and someone to trust and that’s always been you. I guess you’re that person for Will Bailey now. I never thought I’d be jealous of that little dork, but credit to him for seeing how brilliant you are._

_Hiring you - or letting you hire yourself - eight years ago was the best thing I ever did. You told me I would find you valuable and now it seems I don’t know how to even function without you. And I don’t mean answering my phones or keeping my schedule. Talking things out with you, being challenged by you, it made me better at my job. It made the country better. I hope you know that. Even before you left to join to the Democratic front runner, however unworthy he may be, you were having a major impact on the national level._

_I’m sorry I never showed you how important you were to the Bartlet Administration. How completely invaluable you’d made yourself to me._

_And I’m so very sorry I didn’t take you to Belgium with me and instead sent you on that damn CODEL. I still wake up at night picturing those terrible images on the television, or the blood-stained rags on your hospital room floor. I remember the look on your face in the operating room. There were so many things I wanted to say, and I gave you platitudes._

_I’ve never been so relieved in my life as when you woke up. I don’t think I ever told you that. I hope you know. After everything I’ve lost, having you open your eyes and call my name - it was nothing short of miraculous. You came back to me, just like you did that April back on the first campaign._

_I guess I always thought you’d come back one more time._

_I know I’m being melodramatic. It’s only been a day. Surely someone will come by before I die of thirst or exposure. I just wanted to get this down, because I do owe you these apologies._

_Mostly, I’m sorry for everything I’ve said and done that cost me the best friend I had. I miss you._

_I do wish you the best, Donna. You deserve it. You are amazing and brilliant and you are going to be one of the shining stars of the Democratic party._

_Be well. Be extraordinary._

_your friend,_

_Josh_

oooOOOoooOOOooo

Noting that the battery was now reading 49%, he quickly hit send. It’s not like the e-mail could go anywhere, and when he was rescued, he could delete it before connecting to a docking station or WiFi. And if he wasn’t rescued, well, she deserved to know… 

There was more he could say, certainly. He could tell her how he felt, how much he cared for her. But it wouldn’t do any good, even if she felt the same, like when she really seemed to care, back when she wouldn’t stop for red lights. 

He yawned. Yesterday had been a long day, and then he’d driven most of the night. He’d gotten a couple hours before Ned’s side trip had awoken him, and he’d been up since then. He glanced at the fuel gauge and was pleased that running the heater had barely moved the needle. He probably wasn’t going to freeze to death.

That thought reminded him that Ned had taken off well over five hours ago. He must be 10 miles or more away now - had he reached civilization? A house? His coat was warm, and he had scarf, gloves and earmuffs, but he had the thin blood of a Texan, so he couldn’t be used to sub-freezing temperatures. And didn’t they say you lose most of your body heat through your head? Ned’s hairline was worse than Josh’s, and he didn’t have a hat. If anything happened to him, it would be Josh’s fault. The man, a long time friend of the Congressman, could be suffering from hypothermia, been attacked by wild animals, any one of dozens of scenarios. He might be injured or worse, and the blame would fall squarely on Josh Lyman.

He stared out the window at the last of the fading light, feeling the familiar churn to his stomach. All his fault. Joanie. His dad. Hell, he’d hired Charlie and even introduced him to Zoey as well as actively rooting for them to get together, and if he hadn’t, the President wouldn’t have gotten shot at Rosslyn, so he could take responsibility for that too. And of course he got Donna blown up in Gaza and hadn’t checked on Leo at Camp David. All him. 

He knew Stanley would have ridiculed him for some of the mental gymnastics he’d performed to take the guilt onto himself, but he was the common link to all these terrible things happening. And now he may have just added another to the list.

The pitch black of a night far from civilization had descended while he sat there, matching his spiraling thoughts. He glanced at the clock - almost nine. Ned had been gone almost seven hours. He found himself praying, awkwardly and hesitantly, that the man was somehow safe and warm. 

He reached over and turned off the ignition. It was pretty warm in the car now, and he should conserve fuel, just in case. There was nothing he could do for Ned, and he was weary to the bone. Just a light nap, then he’d resume … well, doing nothing but wait for any car to come along. Even a Republican would do at this point.

Just a little sleep. He locked the doors, and then reclined the seat a bit, burrowing himself into his coat. He did his best to ignore the pain and the anger and the guilt and closed his eyes and surrendered to his exhaustion.

_old memories come to life_  
_a last dance in this amber light_  
_wind, carry these letters home tonight_


	3. Letter 2 - We Trace a Simple Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another e-mail, as introspection overwhelms the stranded Josh.

He’d woken a couple hours later, his back exploding with pain at the awkward way he’d fallen asleep in the car seat. The temperature had dropped even more, and he struggled to raise himself to the point where his numb fingers could reach far enough to turn the key in the ignition, before collapsing back in his seat. 

Maybe if he could get the muscles warmed up enough, he could try a couple of stretches he’d learned in Physical Therapy to try to alleviate some of the discomfort. For the moment, he found himself trying to measure his breaths, willing himself to relax with little success. 

The hours passed. The sun rose, and no traffic came by. He re-read the briefing papers he had, the newspaper Ned had picked up, the owners manual to the Civic, everything he could find within reach. He had to answer the call of nature at one point, awkwardly making his way behind the car to do so, and leaning heavily on the hood for support. 

After he finished, he had turned his thoughts to survival. While he was looking for reading material in his backpack, he’d discovered two peanut butter granola bars that he was certain that he hadn’t stashed away. He’d felt a pang when he realized where they must have come from. But he had food, which made water his most pressing concern, so after rubbing his hands with some of the Purell from his backpack, he used his bare hands to collect snow off the roof into the coffee cup from yesterday. 

He limped back to his seat and flopped back in, wincing as he had to lift each leg inside by hand. He promised himself if he got through this he would never skip another ab workout. Crunches every morning before breakfast, definitely. Another grunt of effort and he managed to close the door, and he collapsed back against the car seat.

It took several minutes for the spasms in his back to quiet down enough for him to focus on anything but the pain. 

The hours passed. The sun reached its apex in the sky, and there was still no sign of cars. When Josh would periodically turn off the engine, he was dismayed to find he couldn’t hear the slightest sound of civilization. 

He looked at the newspaper again. He fiddled with the radio and was rewarded with snippets of a Country & Western station that occasionally rose above the static. He tried desperately not to think of Ned as a frozen corpse lying on the road somewhere because he couldn’t reign in his temper.

He sipped the now melted snow he’d collected, and ate half a granola bar that completely failed to settle his churning stomach. He closed his eyes, tried to will himself to sleep a little, but found the discomfort of his aching back exceeded by the guilt in his heart. 

The hours passed. The sun was setting. Another day finished and no one had come to rescue him. The darkness fell again, and he continued methodically running the heat in the car for an hour or so, then letting it go for as long as he could bear. There seemed to still be a bit over a third of a tank left now. He tried the math - a 13.2 gallon tank, about half full when they got stuck, that was 6.6 gallons. He’d run the engine about fifteen hours since, all told, and there was probably a bit over half of that remaining. Maybe five hours of heat per gallon, more or less? He’d have to ration it better, like the water, and his meager food supply. He owed it to his mother to survive this. He owed it to himself, to try to make things right.

He fidgeted in the dark. He tried to strategize, tried to come up with the perfect ploy to wrest the spotlight from Hoynes and Bingo Bob. He tried anything to keep his mind occupied, and found the tedium of waiting has, at least momentarily, more irritating than the pain and hopelessness.

He finally opened his laptop and turned it on. 

_Dear Donna,_

_There is nothing to do but sit here and hope a car comes along and I am going out of my mind. If it’s possible to die of boredom, then that’s what’s going to take me out long before lack of water or food gets me._

_I did find those granola bars you stuffed in my backpack, before the China trip, so thank you for that. Even when you hate me, you’re still looking out for me retroactively._

_Do you hate me? It seems like it, and I really can’t say blame you. I considered that you might be mad because I was responsible for you nearly dying in Gaza, but I know you are far too kind a person to do that, even if it was my fault you were there. For a long time I thought it was because I came on too strong, coming to Germany as I did, and maybe I’d gotten between you and your boyfriend. I don’t know if you and Colin got in a fight because you asked for me before your surgery - I hope not. It galls me to say it, but he seemed like a nice guy. In any event I I was under the impression that you wanted me there, right up to the moment when you kicked me out. But I get that I was superfluous at that point; you had Colin, and your mom._

_I’ve been going over everything I can remember from those months that followed, trying to figure out what I did, where I went wrong. How I became peppermint ice cream to you. It didn’t hit me until one night in Iowa, when I couldn’t sleep and it all got to be too much with you just across the hall but it was more like you were a billion miles away, and I felt myself losing control. I stood against the wall for what felt like hours, my heart racing, my emotions all over the place, and iI finally realized that I never checked in with you after Gaza. You, who had been there for me after Rosslyn. You, who saw what was happening to me that Christmas. How could I ever miss how much you had to have been hurting?_

_No wonder you hate me. I was the worst boss, the worst friend. Of course you weren’t OK, how could you be OK? You were blown up. You almost died. And I couldn’t see your pain because I was too self-absorbed or self-pitying or just generally a selfish ass. There are no excuses, and I am so unbearably sorry. You deserved better than to have someone who claims to care about you to let you suffer like that. I don’t know if you’re dealing with PTSD or Survivor’s Guilt or something else, but I should have seen it, should have been the friend you were for me, should have helped you through it. I can only hope you have a Stanley of your own to help you through it. If you don't, if you need to… show this e-mail to my mother, she’ll pay for whatever you need to get better. It’s the least I can do after putting you through all that._

_How the hell did we get here? Things felt easy between us once. The work was hard, but we had each other. Sure, we would tease each other, and play practical jokes, and I know I could be difficult a lot of the time, but we did amazing, important things together. You were so much more than an assistant - we were a team, feared and respected throughout the Beltway. Unstoppable. I always thought that the good times outweighed the bad, but lately I’ve come to doubt everything I thought I knew about you._

_You never seemed to mind that I interfered with the gomer parade. I know if was horrible of me to say - unforgivable, even - but I don’t know if I was wrong that night, however terribly I articulated it. You spent our first couple years going on all those dates with men so beneath what you deserved, you were always talking about them being “the one” and getting married, and it just seemed like that was how things went wrong with Dr. Freeride. I know you’ll make a wonderful wife and mother some day, but you always have had so much potential that you should explore before that. Politics and public service is in your blood and you have worked so hard and you are so good at it. The Democratic Party needs you, Donna._

_But damn me if I didn’t put you in the same place as that no good medical student or Commander Wonderful, and expected you to defer your dreams for me._

_If I’d been a better man, like President Bartlet is, I would have done as he did for Charlie. Found time for you to go back to school if you wished, or just encouraged you to grow and blossom into the person I could always see in you. I was too scared of change, of you leaving me. Part of me needed to think of you like Margaret is to Leo, or dear Mrs. Landingham had been to the President, and I’m sorry for that too. You were never mine. And I should have made your life better just as you had done for me so many times._

_My only solace now is, if I die here, that I get to make it up to you post-mortem. My mother will be contacting you in that eventuality. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but after I’m gone, I do hope you will stay in touch with her. She’s the one person I know still loves me, and losing me will be hard for her, so if you could check on her, call her from time to time? She adores you, you know._

_God, I’m rambling and I’m wallowing in self-pity. I don’t want to die. I want to be rescued and I want to go put Matt Santos in the White House, if this whole side adventure hasn’t completely derailed the campaign. Who knows what he’ll get up to - he’s so idealistic and independent and headstrong that it’s everything I can do to keep him on message. Bingo Bob may be an empty suit, but at least he seems to follow Will’s lead._

_Do you remember that night on the first campaign, when we were in New Mexico, and you convinced me to take you to White Sands and the full moon reflected off the white of the sand and everything around us was ethereal and luminescent? It’s a full moon tonight, and for some reason that memory has lodged in my brain. You were luminous too, your hair radiant as it seemed to become moonlight itself. I wish I had a picture, but it wouldn’t do it justice. At least I have that memory. I hope you don’t mind if I want to remember you like that, so beautiful under the moon and stars, with your dazzling smile as bright as anything._

_After I’m gone, I hope you can remember me as something other than the awful boss who got you hurt and didn’t take care of you afterwards. I hope you remember me as the guy who hired you, who looked out for you, who taught you everything I knew. Who wrote a memo to the President about your AP English teacher, and put your parents’ cats on the Supreme Court. Who came to Germany when you were hurt because there was no where else he could think to be. As a guy who genuinely did care for you. I need you to know that, Donna._

_And I hope you can find it in your heart to not hate that guy._

_Yours,  
Josh_

\- - - - -

He hit send. 24% battery remaining. He should be writing Sam, Leo, the President, the Congressman, something for Ned’s family, but in the end all his thoughts turned to her. The months of estrangement and sleepless nights had left him with so much he needed to get out, needed to tell her. But even here, stranded and with fading hope, he couldn’t put down those three words at the crux of everything he felt for her.

She was tuned to him, once. Maybe she could read between the lines.

\- - - - -

The pick-up truck pulled into the Humboldt General Hospital Emergency Room entrance, and the driver ran in.

“I need help!” 

An orderly took a look at the woman’s face and ran outside with her.

“The damn fool was walking at night down around Lovelock-Unionville Road,” she explained. “Didn’t even see him until I was right on him. Slammed the brakes, but still clipped him.”

The orderly called back for a stretcher. It was a quiet night in Winnemucca, Nevada, and the entire team was at work. Maggie Murphy heard them talk about severe hypothermia and fractures as a police officer asked her questions.

“Yeah, he was still awake for some of the ride. Said his name was Ed or Ted or… Ned. That’s it. Ned Carlson. Said he worked for a guy named Matt.”

\- - - - -

_the bright moon steals_  
_the heart of orion's joy_  
_we trace a simple line_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie - I don't know if this is turning out the way I wanted it to. Lost, stranded Josh may not make for a fun read. I should have taken kcat1971's advice and gone from Donna's perspective after she finds the e-mails, but I'm plot committed now. There will be a happy ending, so yay?


	4. Letter 3 - A Song That Played

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still stranded, Josh makes an audacious request of Donna

The truck went by a few minutes before 3:30 A.M.

Josh was on his hands and knees a couple yards outside the car door. He’d barely managed to doze off,when the car interior was flooded by headlights and the doppler sound of a large vehicle surging towards him. He was instantly awake, adrenaline coursing through his blood. He opened the car door, tried to wave the driver down… and it was long gone, disappeared down the road.

It hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t even tell if the driver had noticed his car stuck there on the shoulder as they had barreled past him.

He’d yelled after it. He imagined he could even hear the echoes of his incoherent screams bouncing back even now. But it was out of sight now. Gone. He let out a string of curses just to keep himself from crying.

He crawled back to the car, fearing that he’d done further damage to his lumbar region in his haste and excitement. He pulled himself back inside and up into the seat, panting with the effort. He looked down at his mud splattered suit - the temperature must have snuck above freezing, not that it made much difference. He managed to reach over and get the car started.

It was the third day; surely someone had filled out a missing persons report. He thought that was the rule, you had to be gone for twenty four hours. So presumably people were looking. He glanced at the fuel gauge - maybe two gallons left. Ten hours of heat. If he could keep the ratio to four or five hours off to one hour running, he could last… four more days? 

If it didn’t snow again, water was going to be a problem. 

A week off from the campaign. Maybe the Congressman was doing fine. The stop in Carson City had been meant to help rally support for the upcoming Nevada caucus, and polling for the Arizona and New Mexico primaries showed their first leads of the season. But Matthew Santos was a good man, and might stop campaigning because of two missing staffers.

He let out a cold, humorless bark of a laugh. If they had Mandy Hampton on the campaign, she’d be able to spin this to their advantage. Leverage the press coverage, get some photo ops of the Congressman looking concerned on the phone, ostensibly seeking further information. She would have it running on every channel - the strong leader showing manly concern for his missing troops. 

He kept an eye on his watch, and after twenty minutes, turned off the engine. He didn’t dare fall asleep again. He had to stay vigilant, just in case another car came by.

He really didn’t want to die. Not like this, with so many things unsaid.

The sun eventually rose. He blinked against its rays with eyes heavy with exhaustion, but found himself glad for the light. He’d spent several hours trying to keep alert, praying that one truck wasn’t an aberration. Had he slept through others? The worry gnawed at him, making stomach acids swirl around in his empty stomach. He ate another couple bites from the last granola bar, chewing thoroughly to try to get them down. There was no water but the muddy slop that trapped the front right tire, and he wasn’t that desperate yet.

Normally, Josh had no problems staying awake, powering through twenty hour days and more. But that was with the aid of caffeine and something important to keep his mind engaged. He had nothing here but his own thoughts, and those were decidedly unwelcome. 

He thought of this fool’s errand he’d been on, plucking Matt Santos from obscurity in the very definition of a quixotic campaign, all at Leo’s direction. Leo, who had suggested C.J. over him for the Chief of Staff job he’d worked towards his whole life. Leo, who had shut him out over the Carrick debacle. “Bartlet’s bulldog”, they’d called him, but in the end he was always Leo’s terrier. And like a dog, he kept going back even when he’d been mistreated. 

No, he wasn’t going to blame Leo for this. He was just doing the job he needed to do. And Josh wasn’t going to blame Josiah Bartlet either. He wasn’t going to blame Toby, or Amy, or Matt Santos or Ned Carlson or Will Bailey. And he certainly wasn’t going to blame Donna. 

Well, maybe he’d blame Will a little bit. Only out of spite, mind you.

But most of the blame fell squarely on him. He’d chosen this life, had worked for it tirelessly. He’d made the compromises, even the ones that made it hard to sleep at night, and he’d made them willingly. He knew he’d had to do things that caused him to not look too closely in the mirror when he shaved, or to shy away from Donna’s penetrating glare after the fact. In he end, he was on the road he’d chosen to travel.

Not this particular, literal road, of course, but the analogy held.

The hours crept along. He re-read everything he could find, again. He scribbled down thoughts on a strategy to truly delineate his candidate from the others, to capitalize on the Congressman’s vision and accomplishments on the Healthcare bill while calling out the unsuitability of the others. Hoynes, as Will had pointed out, was damaged goods, but he was going to rack up wins in the South and if you punctured the air of inevitability that Bailey had carefully cultivated around Russell, his support would start hemorrhaging. The rest were inconsequential.

He jerked awake. He simply couldn’t focus through the aches and the hunger and the fatigue. He looked down at the page on which he’d been writing, and found it completely illegible except for a single name, her name, that he’d jotted down in the margins.

Everything came back to her. If she hadn’t left him, he never would have gone to recruit Matt Santos. Because she wasn’t there, it was possible for him to leave the White House when the Congressman had asked. He’d devoted every ounce of will to this campaign as part of a desperate attempt to keep her from overwhelming his thoughts, with limited success. He worked himself to exhaustion in hopes he’d be too tired to think or even dream of her.

All that effort wasted now. Now, he had no strength left to fight. Now, the campaign he’d given everything to was going to fail, and the country would have to face a choice between Bob Russell, John Hoynes or a Republican, and he couldn’t possibly decide which was worse.

He had to fix it, somehow, and an idea sparked in his head. He opened the laptop.  
\- - - - -

_Dear Donna,_

_So I guess you never have to worry about being “also dead, Diane Moss”, at least with regards to me._

_God I was such a bastard to you. You were hurting and I didn’t notice. How could I not notice? You were everything to me and I treated you so badly that you had to leave me._

_So I know I don’t have the right, but once I’m gone… please, come work for Matt Santos and run his campaign. He’s a good man. He deserves to be President. You and Will are doing such a good job but Bob Russell isn’t fit to serve and you know it. You can show this e-mail to the Congressman and tell him I hold you in the highest regard. You can do anything you set your mind to - anything. I mean that, Donna._

_I am not joking. If you were here, I would be begging. On my knees. I want you to take over for me. Leverage the press coverage of my death. Call Toby to try to get him on board to help, and when he says no, call Sam. He won’t refuse a dead man’s last request. He can help craft your message but trust your own instincts. Remember everything you’ve learned._

_I was wrong when I wrote that I taught you all I know, because there was one lesson I didn’t teach you. I guess I thought you already knew when you picked up your life and drove to New Hampshire. The candidate matters. Work for the real thing. I know you’re just starting out, but I wasted years on “just another politician” and in the end it wasn’t worth it. I do think, in your heart, you know this, and if I hadn’t been such an ass you wouldn’t have been so quick to wind up where you are today. In the end, I guess I wasn’t the real thing either. But you know President Bartlet is, and please believe me when I tell you that so is Matt Santos._

_Did you know that it was Bob Russell’s wife that outed Ellie Bartlet’s involvement with that HPV vaccine? I don’t think the President does, but the evidence is there if you look. I nearly leaked it, but the Congressman doesn’t want to go negative and it - well, I thought you would think I was making it up to spite you._

_If it ever does come out, you know that President Bartlet is going to wait for Bingo Bob in the tall grass and end his political career. As much as the President may care about the future of the party, you know that you absolutely do not mess with the man’s family._

_Bob Russell is the Democratic equivalent of Rob Ritchie, with slightly more brains and (somehow) slightly fewer scruples. And you are far too talented and too good a person to put him in the White House._

_What the hell has gotten into Will, anyway? He had to have known about what the Russells did to Ellie. He pushed Russell into that opportunistic cabinet meeting in the midst of the President’s MS attack. Why would he do that? It’s not like he was running against the President in the primaries!_

_I spoke with Sam back in December and he was surprised - that wasn’t the guy he sent to Toby. This wasn’t the man who got a corpse elected because there were “worse things in the world than no longer being alive”, or the man who fought for the Bartlet Doctrine after scouring through all of the President’s speeches to try to stop a genocide in Kundu. Definitely not the man I dragged to your apartment on the night of the Inauguration._

_Sam really thought he was “one of us”._

_Did we do that to him? Me and Toby and CJ? When we froze him out after Russell hired him, when we treating him like he had that Bingo Bob stench all over him, did he retreat into the full Machiavelli? Did we make him feel as isolated and alone as I do now?_

_Maybe we aren’t the “us” we thought ourselves either._

_Did he ever tell you that I came looking for you at the D.C. office? It was a feeble attempt, but I really was trying to reach out. To be a man. And then you told me you didn’t want to make it a thing, and you were calling the campaign hopeless and pulling that cheap - OK, pretty smart and effective - stunt with the letters._

_I am still pissed at him about that. Asking if I mind if “a deputy” sits in and then hitting me with you, knowing how hard that would be for me. It was a cheap shot, but again, smart and effective. I couldn’t get you out of my mind all day._

_Not that he needed to spring you on me to have that happen. There hasn’t been a day since you left me where I haven’t thought about you. Missed you. I think you’ve been on my mind since you walked into the Nashua office eight years ago._

_So please, please come run Santos with Sam. Work with the Congressman on the issues - maybe you’ll have a defter hand in guiding him than I did. Let Sam craft the message. I really wish I could watch you all work together - three of the best, most noble and smartest people I’ve met. You’ll move mountains, Donna. I know you will._

_in gratitude,  
Josh_

\- - - - -

Once again he clicked send. 10%. The battery indicator was in the red now. Maybe he’d have time for one more quick note.

He turned off the machine and leaned back, emotionally exhausted. He knew he was being presumptuous. He realized that there was a good chance that Donna would laugh at the very thought of leaving the front runner to go take over an insurgent campaign. He knew that even though she had been rightfully proud of her responsibilities as she rubbed his face in them, she wouldn’t believe him that she was ready for this step. And three months ago, he would have agreed. But sleepless nights had given him a lot of time to think back at their interactions over the past eight years, how she’d grown, how she’d surprised him and impressed him with her intelligence, insight and perseverance. And now that he’d seen her in action, the same instincts that had seen potential in a college dropout trying to hire herself or a kid who just wanted to be a bike messenger - or a member of Congress who was trying to retire to start medical clinics in Houston - now saw almost limitless potential in this woman. 

He was sad to think he wouldn’t get to cheer her on her way.

He smiled wistfully as he thought of what she could accomplish. If she would stay behind the scenes or step up and lead herself. He could see her as a Congresswoman, Senator… President? He hummed ‘Hail to the Chief” tunelessly and drifted off to sleep.

\- - - - -

_all our days_   
_there was a song that played_   
_for you in my head_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be stretching credulity - I do think Donna is one of the highest I.Q. individuals we see on the West Wing, and on a show with characters like Jed Bartlet and Toby Ziegler, that's saying a lot. But her past hampered her. Josh's greatest talent, in contrast, seem to be his instincts. He took a flyer on Santos, and seeing Donna's success for Russell, I think he could extrapolate just how far she could go.


	5. Letter 4 - Time to Write

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh feels he's reaching the end, unaware that rescue may finally be on its way, and has some final thoughts for Donna.

“Governor,” the nervous voice of his secretary broke over the intercom, “you have a call from a Miss Cregg at the White House on line three.”

The Honorable Robert (Bobby) Quinn, 28th Governor of the great state of Nevada, let out a curse. He’d already had that damn fool Congressman from Texas talk his ear off for ten minutes about the need to conduct a manhunt for his missing campaign manager, and he’d gotten a half dozen messages from a Mr. Young at the White House he hadn’t had time to return.

Quinn had run into Josh Lyman when he had served a couple terms in Congress and was surprised anyone missed the son of a bitch.

He pressed the button, “Hello, Miss Cregg.”

“Good afternoon, Governor,” CJ began, “I’m calling on behalf of the President. He has a personal stake in finding…”

“Cut the crap, Miss Cregg,” the Governor snapped, “We’re doing what we can. My state is a hundred and ten thousand square miles…”

“Respectfully, Governor, you don’t have to worry about a hundred and ten thousand square miles,” the Chief of Staff countered. “Mr. Lyman’s traveling companion is in critical condition in Humboldt General hospital. He was found on Lovelock-Unionville Road. It seems to me, sir, that if you concentrated your manhunt there, it might prove more fruitful than giving me or my aide the runaround.”

“Of course we’re focusing our efforts but…”

“I’m glad to hear that,” CJ continued, “but I would like to stress that President Bartlet thinks of Josh as a son, and right now it’s taking all my powers of persuasion to keep him from calling up the Nevada National Guard and have them start combing the area.”

“As I said, we’re doing our best,” the Governor said, “but it’s the fourth day, Miss Cregg, how do you even know your boy’s even alive?”

There was a moment of silence. CJ’s voice was cold when she finally answered. “Because I know Josh Lyman, and he’s too stubborn to die. We will be looking forward to hearing updates soon.”

Back in Washington, CJ buzzed Margaret and asked her to get a hold of Donna for her.

\- - - - -

Josh was finding it hard to stay awake, but it was harder still to get restful sleep. He passed the hours in discomfort, fidgeting and fretting and sinking into despair. His back was stiff, and there was still a burning in the muscles around his lower spine. His stomach growled, his mouth was dry, his throat parched and his lips where chapped from running the heat. 

He knew he didn’t have much time left.

He tried to get comfortable in the seat. His chest felt tight and his heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he brought his fingers up to the scar there. His mind flashed back to his recovery, sitting in his apartment, watching movies with Donna, him under a quilt and her nearby, her long legs tucked beneath her and wearing his old Harvard sweatshirt. He’d pick sports movies and she’d make him watch rom-coms and they would laugh and talk and tease each other while they watched, but the important thing was just being there, comfortable in each other’s presence.

He flashed to another memory, after she’d come back from Gaza, before she returned to work. He’d come to her apartment with Chinese, and they’d sat and she wanted to watch that movie with Mike Myers as the ogre. Shrek, that was it. And it hadn’t been comfortable at all. When the John Cale version of “Hallelujah” had come on, he’d started complaining about how it missed the point by cutting the last verse that Leonard Cohen always included, and she’d gotten mad at him for ruining the movie and they’d gotten snippy with each other and after they watched the rest of the movie in silence, he’d gone home. Then work had gotten crazy and he never had another chance.

He felt his mind jump to that song, and to the original, and that final verse, and it struck him that he had a special insight right now. _And even though it all went wrong / I’ll stand before the Lord of Song / With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah._

It had all gone wrong. And he had so many regrets and there were so many things he’d have done differently if he had the chance, but here, right now, he could never regret her. He could regret things he’d said to her, and, more importantly, all the things he hadn’t. He could regret that he would never see the promise she was showing now fulfilled. But to have her in his life for nearly eight years, to have been able to … love her, even from afar. There was nothing for that, but “hallelujah”. 

He opened his laptop one final time. There was one last thing he still needed to say to her.

_Dear Donna_

_I apologized, but I didn’t say thank you. Not nearly enough, anyway._

_Thank you, for having the courage to leave that freeloading doctor and the desire to make the world better that brought you to Nashua._

_Thank you, for choosing my desk out of all those in the office, for not letting me say no to you, for proving yourself so valuable._

_Thank you for your kindness and understanding when my father died. For calling me and keeping me updated on the campaign, but really just to give me a friendly voice to listen to and a distraction from my grief._

_Thank you for coming back that April. I can’t imagine, knowing me as you do, what it took to swallow your pride and potentially subject yourself to a thousand “told you so’s”, because you knew how good you were and how much I needed you._

_Thank you for not bringing me coffee, for not putting up with my crap but challenging me to be better. For deflating my ego before it could run away and making me earn my successes. For stimulating conversation and innumerable moments of inspiration. For listening to me ramble on. For sharing quirky little facts that I never appreciated enough at the time._

_Thank you for everything you did after Rosslyn. For caring for me, for the Rules. For being the one who guessed and for going to Leo when you did._

_Thank you for all your concern and help during “Sagittarius”. I was mad at Toby for telling you, I wanted to shield you, but I always knew he was right to trust you with it. And now that I suspect I know why you did what you did afterwards… thank you. It wasn’t your job to protect me, but I really appreciate your intentions back then._

_Thank you for not dying in Gaza, or in Germany._

_There are probably a million more things I need to thank you for, and this computer doesn’t have the battery life to enumerate them all. And even if it’s all gone to hell, and this is the end of my story, I want you to know how grateful I was for having you in my life. You were by far the best part of my best years._

_So thank you for being amazing, brilliant, wonderful you._

_love,  
Josh_

His clicked send with the battery at 1%. He turned off the laptop, listened to the hard drive spin down. 

He reached to turn off the engine, but he suddenly wasn’t sure what was the point of trying to save fuel. He was going to die. No one was coming, and he was going to die, and die alone, just like he always suspected he would. 

He slumped back in the seat, defeated. He knew he should be crawling to the puddle and keeping hope alive. Rationing the fuel. He recalled that Gandhi lasted three weeks without food. He’d probably be able to last another week.

Another week of being cold, hungry and in pain. Another week to find out that the campaign had folded in his absence. Just for a chance to learn that his one shot to truly be the guy the guy counted on had died, even if he hadn’t.

It wasn’t worth it. To have to look Leo or the President in the eyes, to know he’d failed. To see pity in the expressions of what few friends he had left.

What was the point?

With a sigh, Josh closed his eyes and gave up.

\- - - - - 

_all these things on my mind_  
_now that I’m taking the time to write_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay hydrated, folks.


	6. Three Texts - A Compass Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Donna and Ronna deal with the fallout of Josh's disappearance

Donna Moss laid her bag down on the bed. She’d just checked into her hotel in Richmond and she looked enviously at the bed she likely wouldn’t see again until well after midnight. Her cell rang.

“Donna Moss.”

“Hey,” came the voice of her campaign manager, Will Bailey, “You by a TV?”

“One sec,” she replied, grabbing the remote and pointing it at the room’s television. “Channel?”

“CNN… probably Fox and MSNBC too… it’s Hoynes talking about…”

“Yeah?” she interrupted as she tried to find the news station for the cable provider in central Virginia. She flipped through several channels until she saw the former Vice President’s face in front of a collection of microphones.

She watched the man’s eyes seem to glisten as he lauded Joshua Lyman’s career of public service. She listened to him add his personal account of Josh, including anecdotes from the time he’d worked for him, how he’d spent countless hours shepherding (popular, poll-tested) legislation through Congress. He spoke of Josh getting shot at Rosslyn, and his courage and drive to return to his job as Deputy Chief of Staff, which transitioned to stories of the accomplishments of President Bartlet’s first term.

“Our thoughts and prayers, of course, remain with Congressman Santos and his staff, and with the family and friends of Josh Lyman. Thank you.”

As the reporters started asking him questions, Donna didn’t know if she wanted to scream in rage or throw up. She could have admired the subtle ways Hoynes was insinuating himself and his campaign into Josh’s history if it didn’t create such an urge in her to reach down the man’s throat and pull out his lungs. 

“Pretty gutsy, sending him out there himself,” Will said. “It’s no big secret Josh turned him down, and left him the first time he ran.”

She listened as she flipped through the pages of her complimentary newspaper, finally finding what she was looking for buried on page 4. “Santos Campaign Manager Still Missing”. 

“You know,” he continued, “the door’s still open if you want to speak for us. I’m sure you’d do better than Hoynes.”

The Bob Russell campaign had yet to make an on the record comment regarding the situation. Will had asked her if she wanted to give a personal statement herself, insinuating that it would probably go over well and reflect positively on the Vice President. She’d been tempted. If nothing else, when they found him (and she refused to accept any other scenario), maybe he would see her heartfelt message and call her and they could repair some of the damage to their relationship. She knew she’d kept herself reserved in the few times they’d run into each other on the trail, had seen the hurt in his eyes on the streets of New Hampshire and the halls of that hotel in Iowa. But the one time she reached out to him, when she brought him Ricky Rafferty’s full health plan text, he had to go and ruin it with that terribly inappropriate comment about their relationship changing.

How dare he joke about that? After Germany, when it seemed like things might finally move forward between them but then he’d gone and acted as if nothing had happened, how dare he say that to her?

But she couldn’t make a public statement, not after the crocodile tears of John Hoynes. Josh was going to be mortified as it was to be a distraction from his candidate, and to see his former boss politicizing his problems for his own gain would incense him. Given their current estrangement, she worried that he would interpret anything she’d say in the same light, and believe she was trying to exploit him too. Based on Will’s suggestion, that was the idea of putting her out there, to make the Vice President look sympathetic. 

“I don’t think I can, Will,” she told him.

There was a pause, a little exhalation, possibly of disappointment? “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. Have you reviewed the text?”

She looked down at the draft in her hands. “The Russell campaign remains hopeful that Mr. Lyman will be found safe, and soon. Our thoughts are with the Santos campaign during this terrible experience, and we wish Mr. Carlson a speedy recovery.” 

“It’s short,” she commented, “and, well, pretty impersonal.”

“The Vice President doesn’t want to have this be any more of a distraction. Josh turned him down too, and if we say more we might get uncomfortable questions about why.”

“That makes sense,” Donna said. “Should we add ‘and prayers’ to the thoughts? It’s cliché but we don’t want to cede the religious vote to Hoynes.”

“I thought so too, but we also don’t want to feel like we’re copying him.”

She considered that, “Then maybe ‘we pray for Mr. Carlson’s speedy recovery’?”

“That’s good,” Will said. There was another pause, and Donna could feel him switching gears from campaign manager to friend. “How are you doing, Donna?”

“I’m good. The numbers are looking good here, and I’ve got four meetings with big donors lined up for this evening.”

“Donna…”

“I… can’t think about this right now, Will.”

“Do you need to take a little time? Everyone would understand.”

“And do what? Fly to Nevada, rent a car and look for him myself? Sit around and obsess over media coverage?” She was a little surprised at the anger in her voice. “I’m doing what I can, which is my job, the one you hired me for. Now if you don’t feel I’m performing adequately…”

“You’re doing fine, Donna,” he said. “But I know you care about Josh and this can’t be easy for you.”

“I’m fine,” she almost snarled. She took a couple deep breaths, centering herself, before continuing in a calmer tone. “I’m going to take a long shower, put on my best suit, and go collect some big checks for the Vice President.”

“Okay,” Will said. 

“Okay,” echoed Donna. “Will?”

“Yeah?”

“If you do hear something… I know, being with the Vice President, you might get information…”

Will answered her, “You’ll be my first call, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was small, drained of all the confidence she’d built. “I’ll call you later, let you know how things went.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Talk to you then.”

Donna hung up. She went to the small bathroom, turned on the water as hot as she could handle, stripped out of her travel clothes, got under the shower head and wept.

\- - - - -

Josh started awake when the engine sputtered and died. No more fuel, no more heat. No more chances. 

His conscience gnawed at him. This wasn’t the way he’d been raised by Noah and Hannah Lyman. He was supposed to persevere over the tragedies visited on him. He slammed his fist against the window. Why? Why bother? What had it ever gotten him but heartbreak?

He’d wasted all his computer’s battery life pouring his heart out to Donna, e-mails that even if delivered he couldn’t be sure would be welcome.

He grabbed his phone from the console. It had been off for several days, but who knew how the battery was holding up. He turned it on, intending on creating a few, final texts.

To Sam: “hey. sorry I didnt stay in touch. donna may be calling pls help her. i know you wont let me down, u never did. love you man. do good.”

To Leo: “im so sorry i let u and president down. i tried my best. tell everyone i was proud to know them.”

He thought of what to say, to C.J., to Toby, but then figured Leo could tell them what they needed to know.

He went to turn off the phone, but paused. One more text. Because he hadn’t said it yet. Because he needed to. Because he did.

He entered in Donna’s number and typed out three words.

\- - - - -

“And we are grateful for the support from not only my fellow candidates, but from our fellow Americans, who have reached out with an overwhelming response of goodwill and prayers that Josh will be reunited with us soon.”

Ronna watched as the Congressman listened for a few moments, then spoke again. “Thank you, Steve, and I hope your viewers will get out there to vote.”

Matt Santos laid the receiver back down on the cradle. It was his sixth interview that day, and he looked drained. He’d originally wanted to suspend the campaign until Josh had been found, but Ronna had insisted that his missing Campaign Manager would be livid if he had. She’d reminded Matt that Josh had believed in him, had given up a job in the White House to come recruit him and to try to make him President, and he would kick the Congressman’s ass from Albuquerque to Phoenix and back if he betrayed the faith he’d placed in him when he agreed to be campaign manager. 

So they were holed up in the Winnemucca Best Western in their impromptu war room. They were splitting their time between that and Ned’s bedside, but Ronna was doing her best to keep her boss on something close to the schedule Josh had laid out for him before he’d gone missing.

Ned had stirred yesterday, but hadn’t said anything coherent. He was being treated for hypothermia, a fractured skull, three cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a concussion. Most of the injuries had been incurred when he had hurled himself at Maggie Murphy’s truck in a desperate attempt to get her to stop. 

Ms. Murphy had given the police the general area, along with the few things the man had told her - that his boss was named Matt and he’d been visiting Rochester, which was where the search was now focused.

Ronna checked her phone. The nurses had promised to call as soon as Ned woke up. She was worried for him - he had a long, painful recovery ahead of him. She was more worried for Josh. 

She thought back to an early morning in New Hampshire, after he’d sent the two kids in chicken outfits to try to shame Russell and Hoynes into opening up the debates. She’d come into the building at 6 a.m. to hear the sound of a tape playing of the incident at the hockey rink coming from Josh’s office. She poked her head in and saw his haggard expression - the man clearly hadn’t slept.

“She took the hit for him,” he’d said, not looking up from the screen.

“Who? The woman?” Ronna had asked. “You introduced me to her - Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” he’d replied, hitting pause on the remote. “It would’ve worked. I really thought we could’ve baited Russell into a response. You could see him flustered right before she jumps in. Instead she gets a little embarrassed and we - I - look like a schoolyard bully.”

“We’re getting pretty good press from that.”

“Doesn’t matter if I can’t get the Congressman on the debate stage.”

Ronna had looked at him closely then, and her curiosity got the best of her. “Why?”

“Why what?” he’d asked, confused.

“Why Matt? Why the Congressman?” she’d immediately corrected herself. “Why are you putting yourself though all this.”

She remembered him pausing, his eyes locked on the frozen image of the blonde yelling at a chicken. “Because there’s nothing I take more seriously. Because this is what’s left, to try to get a good man - the real thing - elected. Because there’s nothing else.”

He’d blinked a few times then, and had turned off the TV and VCR. He rubbed his eyes, scrubbed his hands through his hair, and reached for his coffee. “Okay, time to get to work.”

The memory burned in Ronna’s mind. The determination in Josh’s eyes masking a heartache that was all too familiar, and she was fairly sure the pretty blonde he’d introduced her to was at the center of it. 

She had doubts about this manic White House superstar who had somehow filled her boss with visions of the Presidency. She’d soon taken note that as irascible as he could be, as much as he expected of the staff, he worked harder and was harder on himself than anyone, and she found something noble in that quixotic undertaking. He was ready to get Matt Santos elected by hook, crook or sheer effort of will, and until he was found, Ronna would take up that mantle.

Her cell rang. “Santos for President, this is Ronna… really? We’ll be right there!” She hung up and called out, “Congressman! Matt! Ned’s awake!”

Less than a minute later the two were exiting out the automatic doors and headed to the car.

\- - - - -

“Dispatch, this is Jimmy, I think we found our boy.”

“Can you repeat?”

“This is Jimmy. I’m north of Lone Mountain, looking at a Honda Civic with rental tags. Looks like it’s stuck in the mud.”

“Hallelujah. Is the guy okay?”

“Hell if I know. He doesn't seem to be moving. Hold on.”

\- - - - -

_your love is a compass rose_  
_steadfast through this sand and stone_  
_wind, carry these letters home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to kcat1971 for help bring this chapter together...


	7. See These Letters Swirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh has been found, but the ramifications of his ordeal are just starting to make themselves felt.

Trooper Jimmy Walton approached the car, noting that the passenger side window was fogged. Good - the occupant was probably still breathing. 

He took out his nightstick and rapped on the window. “Hello there! Are you in need of assistance?” he announced loudly to no response. The figure had reclined in the seat, so he tested the handle, finding it unlocked. He pulled it open. “Excuse me? Are you Joshua Lyman?”

“G‘way,” came a weak voice. “‘m tryin’ t’ die here.”

The man in the car seat looked awful. His eyes were sunken, his lips chapped and bleeding. His eyes looked around, blinking rapidly in the low light of the evening.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know you from Adam, but assuming you are Joshua Lyman, the governor has a big ol' bug up his ass about you, so I’d really appreciate if you held off on dying for now.” 

He ran back to his car, and grabbed one of the bottles of Gatorade they’d suggested each member of the search team have present, along with a warm blanket. He brought both back to the stranded car.

“You’re looking a little parched there,” he said as he brought the bottle to the man’s lips and gave it a slight tilt. “Here, take a drink of this.” The gatorade dribbled out the corners of the man’s mouth. “C’mon, man, that’s a nice suit, you don’t want it to stain. Just a sip.”

“Ruined th’ suit,” the man said. “Ruined ev’rythin’.” He did, however, swallow a small amount of the drink.

The officer tucked the blanket around him and gave him another couple sips before heading back to his car. “This is Trooper Walton. I have the individual. He’s… not looking so hot. Should I wait for an ambulance or just get him in the truck and get him up to Winnemucca?”

“Can you confirm your location?”

Walton relayed rough coordinates - the road was unnamed and he had to estimate how far he’d come.

“Ah hell, I dunno,” the man on dispatch said before he started asking someone else nearby. There was a brief conversation before he came back to the radio. “Better play it safe and wait for paramedics. Keep him warm and work on getting fluids in him.”

“Roger,” Walton said, who grabbed a gas can from the back of his truck and headed back to the car. He put a gallon or so into the tank, and got in the driver’s seat to start the engine and get the heat back on. 

“Wha’ day ‘sit?” Josh mumbled, after another sip of Gatorade.

“Tuesday. The fourteenth. My girl is gonna be pissed ‘cause I’m missing dinner to save your sorry ass, so you better not die on me.”

“S’rry,” the man apologized. He shook his head a little, his eyes focusing. “Wait - ‘sa 14th?”

“Yep,” Jimmy confirmed, “Gotta hot date you’re missing too?”

“Wha’?” Josh asked, confused, “No! It’s just… crap. The primaries. Arizona. New Mexico. Michigan.”

“Yeah buddy, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to the polls.”

“Gotta… gotta call the Congr’ssm’n,” he said, trying to sit up, before wincing in pain and collapsing back into the seat with a muffled curse.

“Whoa, watch it, man,” the trooper said. “All you’re gonna do is sit, drink some fluids and wait for the ambulance.”

About forty minutes later when the ambulance arrived, Josh had managed to drink one whole bottle and much of a second, and had worked his way up to almost full sentences. They’d talked baseball - Jimmy turned out to be a Diamondbacks fan. They bonded over a mutual loathing of the Yankees. Josh had gotten more animated when the conversation had turned to politics. “Walken or Vinick’ll destroy any one of the guys the Democrats got,” Jimmy had said, “but at least your boy did his time in the Marines.”

The trooper updated the two paramedics on their patient’s condition - how much he’d had to drink, that he’d hurt his back trying to push the car and his right hand hitting the window. There was a brief struggle when they wanted to get him on the stretcher - Josh insisted on bringing along his backpack with his files, his laptop and phone inside. A compromise was reached where he was allowed to keep it on his lap as they performed their required checks. They loaded both him and his backpack into the ambulance.

“Trooper Walton?” he called out.

“Yeah?”

“I - I just wanted to say thank you. Give that girlfriend of yours my apologies for ruining date night. An’ give her a night to remember - take her somewhere nice an’ give her flowers. Def’nitely need flowers. ’s important to be a man of occasion.”

“I’ll remember that, Mr. Lyman.”

“Josh,” he corrected him with a small smile.

One paramedic got in next to his patient’s stretcher as the other closed the door and moved to the cab. As she started the engine, Josh turned to the man treating him to say something, but immediately blanched and looked away as an IV was inserted into a vein. 

“You know, that trooper was a pretty good guy…” he said, his voice wavering. “For a Republican, that is.”

\- - - - - 

Ronna drove back to the Best Western experiencing a jumble of emotions. When she'd seen him, Ned was sitting up and they’d been able to talk a bit, something slightly hampered by the pain medication. And even better, one of the police officers had let her know that Josh had been found and was coming in. She’d called Matt to give him the update, and, after Ned fell back asleep, went down and waited down by the Emergency Room for when their campaign manager was brought in. 

She was relieved that they’d both been found relatively safe, and excited about their prospects in the night's elections.

He hadn’t looked as bad as she’d feared. They’d had him strapped down and his right hand was wrapped up, while his left had a grip on his trademark backpack. They’d let her talk with him briefly and to take his bag with her. She offered to help fill out any forms, but Josh had told her in no uncertain terms that she was needed back at the war room, that the polls would close soon and the Congressman would need her.

She was about to object, as surely there was little she could do at this point, but she saw that haunted, defeated look in his eyes that she'd never seen from him before, and decided to do as he said. 

So now she was back. She checked in with Congressman Santos, who was doing a last minute interview with a Santa Fe based NPR station. The polls still looked good for them in both Southwestern states, even buoyed a bit by the news coverage of the missing staffers. 

She went to her room and looked through Josh’s backpack, placing the briefing memos and files aside on her bed to be organized and replaced with updated information. She knew him well enough that as soon as he was able, he’d be desperate to catch up on everything he’d missed, so she plugged in his computer and phone. She’d bring them over to him when she went back after the results were announced.

Unnoticed where she’d placed it on the desk, the screen of his phone powered up and the screen flashed “Sending message 1 of 3… 2 of 3… 3 of 3…”

\- - - - -

Sam Seaborn had been been particularly stressful on his assistant the last couple days, making him scour Nevada news sites for any updates on those missing Santos campaign staffers. Normally Peter found him to be a fairly easy going boss, well adapted to the West Coast lifestyle, that he forgot that this was a man who had worked inside the White House a few years before.

“Peter!” Sam’s frantic voice crackled over the intercom. “I need to be on the next flight to Reno and I’m going to need a rental when I get there.”

“You’ve got that meeting with Nichols at-“

“Postpone,” Sam’s voice was tenser than he’d ever heard. “And get me that damn plane ticket!”

\- - - - -

C.J. Cregg put the phone down and let out a sigh of relief. There was a knock on the door and Margaret poked her head in, her eyes questioning.

“They found him, alive,” C.J. said, with a tired smile. 

Margaret’s posture relaxed for the first time in several days. Josh Lyman may have been mercurial, boisterous, and egotistical, but he had always been well loved among the halls of the West Wing. “I can tell everyone he’ll be okay?”

“Of course,” C.J. said as she got up and crossed over to the door leading to the Oval Office. She knocked and entered.

“You have good news?” Jed Bartlet asked, looking up from the desk. 

“I do, Mr. President.”

He bowed his head silently, offering a prayer of gratitude. “When the Santos campaign ends, I want you to chain that boy to the desk in his office.”

“That’s the other thing, Mr. President,” C.J. said, “Santos just won the Arizona and New Mexico primaries.”

\- - - - -

It had been a miserable day. Donna knew much of that was worrying about Josh, as each hour ticked past without any notification from Will. She’d gone to a charming little Italian place for her third donor, and it was far too romantic a setting for her taste, especially given the date. 

Jeffrey McDougall had acted like a gentleman, mostly, and he’d brought several checks from his business associates. He’d made a joke about the red roses at the tables, had asked if she was busy that evening, and he was certainly cute enough, and rich and actually a Democrat. But she’d declined out of hand. She did have the excuse of her last meeting, but she knew that it was because she was concerned for her… friend.

It was easier if she called Josh her friend, even if they hadn’t acted that way in far too many months. But you were allowed to care about friends, even when you grown apart, After the primaries, there’d be a chance to repair that friendship again. If they found him. Once. Once they found him.

“,,, and we’re happy to hear that the Vice President understands the importance of smaller tech companies like 4Warned in the new economy,” Jeff was saying. “Are you all right, Donna?”

She put on a plastic smile, “I’m fine, Mr. McDougall.” She put a light stress on the formality of his name.

“It’s just that you keep checking your phone. I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Not at all,” she affected a slightly embarrassed countenance. “I apologize. You’ve been both welcoming and generous. It’s just…” She chewed on her bottom lip and decided to be honest. “I was looking for update on the missing Santos staffers.”

“They found the one, right? The aide?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “and they were hoping he’d give information on the location of…”

“Josh Lyman, right?” Jeff said. “You know I met him, once? I think it was five years ago. We were on the Hill schmoozing the ranking member on the House Financial Services Committee to soften some onerous regulations in a bill and he came in and told the guy we’d been working all day that it wasn’t going to happen, and just like that we were shown the door.” 

Donna nodded absently, her mind going back to a day when Josh had learned lobbyists were trying to gut a Consumer Protections Bill he and Sam had spent months on. Knowing this guy was part of it made her glad she’d already declined for later.

She glanced at her watch - 8:30 - and her next “boulder” meeting was in a half hour. “I’m sorry, Mr. McDougall, but I really have to get to my next appointment. I’ll be sure to pass on both your thoughts and support to the Vice President.”

He handed her his card, in case she changed her mind of course, and she extricated herself as quickly as possible. 

She made her way to the ladies room, and splashed some cold water on her face. She was starting to get sick to her stomach. It had been five days, and Josh could barely function when he had all the comforts of the city around him. She suppressed the urge to call Will - surely by now that aide would have told them where to look. Surely by now they’d have found him.

Her phone buzzed. She looked, expecting it to be Will, but it wasn’t.

It was from Josh.

She felt a surge of relief. He was alive. He was in range of a cell tower. They'd found him.

She opened the text, expecting to see a little of the old arrogance, “I knew you’d be worried”, that sort of thing. And she found herself momentarily delighted at that prospect, since it meant he was thinking of her and knew she'd want to hear from him. It gave her a small measure of hope. 

When she opened the message, however, all she could do was stare at the screen, uncomprehending.

It only contained three little words.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to kcat1971 for her help and insight. I've already reached my initial concept for this story, so I have to beg your indulgence as the rest of it reveals itself to me in its own sweet time.


	8. A Thousand White Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna tries to understand the text from Josh

Donna looked down at the phone screen, not believing her eyes. He loved her? He _loved_ her? The man goes missing for five days, they’d barely said a hundred words to each other in two months, and he just sends her “I love you”? And on Valentine’s Day?

If she was honest with herself, she knew she’d been hoping to hear those words from him for so long. Bittersweet memories from the past eight years overwhelmed her, moments in time where they’d come hurtling to the edge of a precipice, only for him to pull back and leave her uncertain and conflicted.

That Christmas Eve when she was supposed to meet Jack Reese at the Washington Inn. He’d apologized when it seemed like once again the job would interfere with her love life. And she’d confronted him - “What did you mean when you said it's not what it looks like?” She wanted him to admit he felt the same thing she’d been feeling for years, but he deflected.

That magical night of the Inauguration, when she felt he was finally seeing her the way she’d always hoped he would, when he told her she looked “amazing”. She’d sat on his lap in a too crowded cab, exhilarated by the closeness but resentful of the four other individuals invading that intimate moment. And then they were at the White House and he’d pulled back with a joke and it became a work night and they’d never talked about it again.

That day in Landstuhl, when she’d asked for him before her surgery. When she’d told him she was scared. She’d been so sure that she could see those words behind the fear in his eyes. But he hadn’t said them. Not then, and not when she woke up and he’d still been there. It never came up, and she started to think she’d projected her own feelings onto him. Of course she knew he cared, had been terrified of losing her, of someone else joining his personal pantheon of tragedy. But love her? She convinced herself that she’d imagined it. It had finally gotten to be too much and she insisted that he return to Washington, knowing the upcoming peace talks were far more important than her feelings. 

Why now?

A possible answer, born from her darkest fears, froze her to her core - what if he’d written it as his last thought of her? She remembered nearly confessing to him in that operating theater in Germany, when she’d been terrified she would die and never see him again. She’d only lost her nerve when she saw his face looking down with such tenderness and concern. He’d had none of that when he was stranded, hopeless, lost and alone in rural Nevada. 

What if they didn’t get to him in time, if they’d been too late and the text was the last thing he’d done? What if it only got to her because someone had brought his cell phone into service range? 

Her stomach roiled and she was sure she was going to throw up. She began to move towards the stalls when her phone started to buzz insistently where she’d put it down on the counter, startling her out of the panicked thought spiral. She turned, reaching for it with a trembling hand, and saw it was from the White House. She pressed a button and brought the device to her ear.

“Hello?” Her voice quavered before she thought to add, “This is Donna Moss.” 

“Hi Donna!” came Margaret’s voice, “I’ve got C.J. for you.”

There was a moment as the call was transferred, but relief flooded through her. Margaret had sounded upbeat. If Josh were… no, he couldn’t be, not with her positive tone. 

“Donna!” C.J.’s voice shared the same cheerful tone that Margaret’s had.

“Josh?” she asked, still fumbling with her emotions. “He’s okay?”

“He was found alive, Donna. He’s at a hospital in… “ There was a pause as she shuffled papers on her desk. “...Winnemucca, Nevada. He was dehydrated, and he managed to hurt his back and his hand, but nothing serious.”

His hand. Her mind flashed to another Christmas. Did he have an episode? She chewed on her lip. “But he’s okay?”

“He’ll be fine.” Gone was the voice of the President’s Chief of Staff, or even the White House Press Secretary. This was the voice of a friend, and Donna felt a tension release that she hadn’t noticed was there.

She let out a breath. “Okay. Thanks, C.J.” 

“By the way, great job in Michigan,” her friend said.

“Thank you,” Donna replied, then heard the beep of an incoming call. She pulled the phone away long enough to verify the caller’s identity, and then told C.J., “Hey, Will’s calling, and I need to take this… next time I’m in D.C., I’d really like to get together.”

“I understand, and I’d like that too. Go, talk to your boss.”

“Thanks again.” She clicked over to the other line. “Hi Will. C.J. just called.”

“Hey. Good.” Her campaign manager sounded a little breathless. “So that’s… good news.”

“Yes,” she said. “I appreciate you calling to let me know too.”

“I did promise,” Will said. “So… I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you be interested in coordinating the campaign’s efforts to rally support for Russell in the Nevada caucus?” There was a hesitancy in his voice as he ventured into what he knew was uncertain territory. “You would leave tomorrow morning, start in Carson City.”

Donna found herself taken aback. 

He continued, “And if you wanted to take a half day or so and visit Winnemucca, you could.”

“Will…” She began to protest. After making sure that Josh wasn’t going to kill him for hiring her, Will Bailey hadn’t asked about the strange relationship she and the former Deputy Chief of Staff had shared. She wasn’t stupid, and she knew he’d used her against Josh in the little stunt at the Nashua office, but after she expressed discomfort later, he hadn’t mentioned Josh once before the current situation, just letting her get on with her job. She didn’t want him to start making exceptions now, not when her career was finally beginning to blossom.

But she’d also told Josh that if he were in an accident she wouldn’t stop for red lights. The thought of him in a hospital room alone upset her more than she wanted to believe. And he certainly had shown he wouldn’t leave her in that situation. 

“If you wanted, Donna,” he stressed. “We need someone out there anyway, and I trust you to do it. It’s up to you if you wanted to see him.”

She took a breath. This wasn’t an exception, but an opportunity. And it was her choice. No one was forcing anything. She exhaled. “I’d be happy to coordinate for the Nevada caucus.”

“Great! I know you won’t let us down.” Will hesitated, and his tone turned strange. “Just… if you go up to see him, It would probably be best if you didn’t mention it to the Vice President. He’s a little steamed about Santos picking up two states and staying in the race.”

And they’d even come in third in New Mexico, where Hoynes had also beaten them, Donna thought. “I understand.” Her call waiting went off again, and a glance told her it was Sam. “Will, I have an old friend on the other line, do you mind if I take it?”

“Oh, sure,” he assented quickly. “You still got your nine o’clock?”

She’d nearly forgotten. “Yes, I’m headed there now. It’s back at the bar at the hotel.”

“Well don’t stay up too late. I’ll have someone get your flight information by the morning. Good luck in Nevada.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and switched over to Sam. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied. 

“He’s alive.” 

“Yeah, Toby called me.”

“I got a thing right now,” Donna said, “but… can I call you after?”

“I’m on my way to LAX to get the 7:35 United flight to Reno,” he answered, “I’ll keep my phone on as long as I can, and we land a little after midnight your time.”

“Okay,” she said. She desperately needed to talk to someone and it’s possible only Sam would understand. “I’ll try you then.”

Her last donor was Mindy Raddison, representing a series of women’s groups. Donna had met Mindy during some negotiations with the Woman’s Leadership Coalition - after the Amy Gardner debacle.

“I can’t deny that the WLC is somewhat ambivalent about Bob Russell, but with Senator Rafferty out of the race, this is as much hedging our bets as anything,” Mindy told her. “But it means a lot to see a woman like you in his campaign staff. You’ve come a long way from answering phones in the White House.”

Donna blushed and thanked her. She’d heard that from multiple donors, and each time it had felt so empowering, helping her fight back the lingering guilt she’d had about quitting her job. She tried not to think too hard when the people complimenting her were often people who felt Josh had wronged them in his relentless pursuit of the President’s agenda, and what it might mean that they felt the Vice President would be more amenable to their concerns.

She made the quickest exit that decorum permitted, and returned to her room, her cell phone in hand, hoping to reach Sam before his flight. She pressed his speed dial number and held her breath.

“Sam Seaborn.”

“Hi,” she said, exhaling with relief. “Did you make your flight?”

“Boarding now,” he said. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

She nervously played with her hair. “So… he texted me.”

“Hey, me too,” Sam responded, attempting a cheerful tone. 

The words tumbled out, “Can you tell me what yours said?”

“Actually,” he said, “I don’t think he was in a good place when he wrote it.” There was background noise where Donna could hear Sam open and close an overhead compartment and take his seat. “Sorry,” he apologized. 

“You were saying? I mean, he was stranded and alone, so he was probably whining a bit,” she commented, forcing a tone of levity she didn’t feel.

“He thought he was dying,” Sam said, a hitch in his voice.

Donna’s stomach dropped. “Why do you think that?”

“He apologized for not staying in touch. He said you might be calling, and that he knew I wouldn’t let him down.”

“He thought I would be calling?” Arrogance, she thought. Or maybe he did know her that well. If he had died, she would have needed Sam, and Sam would need her. And both of them would need to be there for Josh’s mother. The idea of another terrible loss visited upon that sweet, kind woman made her eyes tear up.

“He told me he loved me, and to do good,” he finished. “What did yours say?”

“Funny story...”

“What? Did he send us the same text?”

“Sam,” she took a shuddering breath. “He told me... I mean, all mine said… the text I got... it just read ‘I love you.’”

There was a long pause.

“Sam?”

“It’s about damn time,” he said, finally.

“Sam!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what the hell it means. As a friend? Trying to make amends after everything that happened between us?”

“Did he apologize?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“So, maybe he felt the need to say that, you know, he loves you.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Donna insisted. “He can’t.”

“He does,” Sam replied. “Of course he does. He’s probably loved you about as long as you’ve loved him.”

“Sam!” Her voice betrayed her shock at his suggestion. “I don’t-”

“Don’t love him? Donna, this is me. I watched you two for five years. I watched you watch each other and watch out for each other. And maybe things got screwed up between you two and you had to leave, and that’s been great for you, but you can’t tell me you don’t still love him and you gotta believe me when I say that he still loves you.” Sam had taken on the zeal she remembered when he would speak of things he was passionate about. “God, Donna, he thought he was dying and he needed you to know that.”

“I- I don’t know,” she said

“I’m not saying run off and get married, or if you two should even be a couple. But wouldn’t it be easier to allow yourselves to admit you care instead of pretending to hate each other?” Donna could hear both affection and frustration in his tone. “Look, I gotta go, the flight attendant is giving me serious stink eye. I land in about ninety minutes if you still need to talk.”

“Okay,” she whispered, not trusting herself. “‘Bye, Sam.”

“Talk to you soon. I promise.”

She hung up the phone, and plugged it into its charger. She got undressed and put on her pajamas, her motions methodical as she moved through her nightly routine. Underneath the apparent calm was a tumult of emotion as Sam’s words repeated in her mind. 

She looked at her phone. She could text him back. Let him know she was glad that he was safe and that she got his message. Give him a chance to walk it back, to respond with a patented “well, you see, when I typed I love you what I was trying to say was…” and they could go back to the awkwardness they’d settled into since she left for the Russell campaign. There was an ironic comfort in it - a moment’s unease that drove them away from one another before the actual loss of everything they had felt and shared could settle in.

Tomorrow, she was going to Nevada, where she would convince a bunch of people to caucus for Vice President Robert Russell. And perhaps - perhaps - she would journey to the small town of Winnemucca, and see what happened from there. 

She padded over to the bed. She didn’t remember the last time she’d gone to sleep before 1 AM, much less before midnight. And she’d be able to sleep tonight - Josh’d been found safe, a simple fact that ameliorated the emotional tempest caused by his text. And even then, she knew he would never use those words lightly; he meant them, even if it wasn’t the way she wanted. Eventually, when they were no longer on opposing campaigns, it now felt that they could get back at least part of what they’d lost.

She still didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, whether or not she’d try to go visit. Maybe Sam could scout ahead. Maybe she’d text, or call. She lay down, a little wired from the day, and deliberately began to slow down her racing thoughts. He was alive. She would worry about the rest in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again huge thanks to kcat1971, who has been making this journey a lot less daunting. 
> 
> we spent a lot of time with Josh's angst, so I guess it was time for Donna to have a turn.


	9. A Flag Unfurled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam visits a sick friend. Donna has mail.

The drive from the Reno airport to Humboldt General Hospital might have been pleasant on another night. The Mercedes E-class handled well, and the I-80 had been relatively free of traffic on this cold February night, but the cumulative anxiety and stress of the past few days had Sam Seaborn moving stiffly, if purposefully, as he walked into the ER door.

He’d planned ahead, calling Toby when he landed in Reno so he might have a little political muscle behind him when dealing with any bureaucratic resistance. When he approached the information desk and gave the man his name, the poor fellow’s eyes grew wide and he’d stammered out directions to a private room on the second floor.

The door to Josh’s room was slightly ajar, and he knocked softly. A young woman with short dark hair was sitting at the bedside, reading aloud what sounded like polling numbers.

“Haven’t you taught your staff not to divulge internal campaign details?”

“Sam!” Josh exclaimed. “Ronna, this is one of my best friends, Sam Seaborn, former Deputy Communications Director for the White House, who abandoned us for the private sector for such paltry rewards like money and regular sleep. Sam, this is Ronna Beckman, aide to Congressman Santos.”

Sam shook her hand, “My pleasure. And thank you for taking care of this doofus for us.”

He leaned over and gave Josh an awkward hug, maneuvering around the wires and tubes connected to his friend. “Wow, you look like hell,” he said, his voice thick.

“And you really gotta work on your pickup lines,” Josh responded. “But, seriously, thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did,” Sam said simply.

Ronna looked at the two of them, and decided to make a discreet exit. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she said, and turned to Sam, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Seaborn.”

“Sam,” he corrected her.

“‘Bye,” Josh called after her. “And thanks.” He turned back to Sam, “She’s been a godsend. I was starting to drive the nurses up the wall asking for information.”

“You were rescued…” Sam checked his watch, “less than seven hours ago. Is it possible that fact has eluded you?”

“I’ve been out of the loop for five days. I swear I thought information deprivation was gonna kill me before I died of thirst.”

Sam glanced at the bag of clear fluids dangling by the bed, its tube winding down and into Josh’s arm. He might be exhausted and travel weary, but more than anything he was just happy to see his best friend alive, and, frankly, looking much better than the last time he’d seen him all hooked up to machines. “I got your text.”

“Oh,” said Josh. “Leo got one, too. Ronna told me I’ve got , like, a gazillion messages on my cell from him and Debbie Fiderer. They eventually called the hospital and bullied the staff into bringing a phone to me in the ER.”

“Really?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah. Leo and the President took turns mocking me and yelling at me, beginning with my grammar and spelling and ending with making them worry about me. I think I’m both grounded and have a month’s detention,” Josh recounted. “I guess I was a bit melodramatic when I wrote those texts.”

“A bit,” Sam agreed. “You scared the crap out of me. I’d really prefer if you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah,” Josh said, but he seemed distracted. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“So me and Leo,” Sam decided to press. “Who else got the honor of Joshua Lyman’s not quite last words?”

Josh couldn’t meet Sam’s knowing gaze, and he seemed to squirm in the bed.

“Congressman Santos?” Josh shook his head. “Donna?”

Josh’s eyes darted to glare at him. “How-?”

“Your text said that she might be calling and I should help her. I decided to be preemptive.” Sam said simply.

“And how are things in the Bingo Bob rodeo?”

“She was confused. And worried about you, of course.”

“Yeah,” Josh said skeptically, “I’m sure.”

“Josh!” Sam, having just gone through this a few hours prior with Donna, was having none of it. “You told her you love her.” Josh looked away and refused to answer, so he pressed on. “You texted me to expect her to call and to help her. A normal person might interpret that to mean offer her comfort for losing you, but you’ve never been in the same time zone as normal. You might know how much I care for you after over a decade of trying to hammer it through your thick skull, but you have no earthly idea just how important you are to that woman. So there’s a missing piece.”

“Hey, I’m a very sick man over here,” Josh whined. “Just barely escaped death for the second time. You should be nice to me.”

“Just tell me the rest.”

Josh bowed his head, defeated. “I wrote her an e-mail. A few, really. I asked… I begged her to take over for me for Congressman Santos when I was gone. And to ask you to help her.”

“You think she’s up to that?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe that’s something you should tell her.”

“I did, well, I mean, I wrote her,” Josh said. “God, I can’t imagine how that text must’ve come across to her, like a love note from, I dunno, a stalker or something. Hey, can you hand me my phone - I gotta apologize to her.”

“No,” Sam refused. “First, it’s already midnight back East, and I know you don’t want to wake her up. And second, you aren’t going to walk this back.”

“The hell I’m not! I’m going to tell her that I meant as a friend, let her know I’m sorry about how I let us drift apart. And maybe then she’ll talk to me again after the primaries are over.”

“You didn’t mean ‘as a friend’.”

“What?” 

“You didn’t mean ‘I love you’ as a friend.”

An hour later, the light of Josh’s laptop bathed Sam’s face in the in a soft glow as his friend snored softly in the bed next to him. The emotional weight of their conversation had exhausted Josh, and he’d fallen asleep soon after, so Sam had grabbed his computer and booted it up. He was a little surprised that Josh had chosen to keep the same password. “Badger1003” - Donna’s old college mascot and her birthday - was easy to guess and Sam thought it must have stung every time he logged in. But that was Josh, needling himself when he felt he’d done wrong and wallowing in his guilt.

Sam found what he was looking for in the Drafts folder of the e-mail client. He had the urge to open them, to read them and make sure they said what he suspected, but that was too invasive. But they were addressed to Donna, and that was enough to justify the action he knew he had to take.

He quietly got up, put the laptop in Josh’s backpack, and hoisted it to his shoulder. He slipped out of the room, out of the hospital, and drove his rental to the Best Western. He got himself a room and made use of the free internet before rushing back to the hospital before Josh woke up. One day this would be a funny anecdote in his best man speech, if Josh didn’t kill him first.

\- - - - -

The ring of the phone startled Donna out of a very pleasant dream that had involved a hotel room in Iowa and Josh putting into words what he had texted her the day before. She rolled over, disturbing the comfortable cocoon she’d made for herself, and grabbed the receiver on the fourth ring.

“This is your four A.M. wake up call,” came the automated voice.

She fumbled the phone back on the cradle. Four A.M.. She got up and walked to the hotel door, where an envelope was waiting. Her flight left Richmond at 6, with a layover in Dallas, and would get into Reno around 11. Carson City was a half hour down the 580 from Reno, figure noon for that, then a couple meetings with the Russell team, maybe two hours max. She could be on the road to Winnemucca by 2:30, and get there about three hours later.

If she chose to go.

She made a cup of coffee, allowing herself a few moments to collect her thoughts before taking a quick shower and dressing for the day in her most comfortable business attire. She packed, left a tip for the cleaning staff, and gathered her things. She’d become adept at negotiating suitcase, garment bag, briefcase and purse in the past several weeks, and she moved purposefully to the hotel’s business center. She connected her laptop, brought up Mapquest and printed out directions to both the campaign office in the capital and to Winnemucca, and also taking the time to download her e-mail; she’d have time to read them on the plane.

It was a short cab ride to the airport, and she breezed through check in and security. She stopped at the Caribou Coffee for a muffin and her second cup of coffee before heading to her gate. She sat down and pulled out her computer, taking a small sip as it booted up. 

Inbox, 37. She sighed. Based on experience, eight of those would be from Will, two from the Vice President’s assistant but sent in his name, and a dozen or so from various Russell staffers. There would be press inquiries, and more than one inappropriate donor request. One name - listed along four consecutive e-mails - leapt from the screen and made her heart stop in her chest. Four e-mails from him, with no subject, sitting in her inbox. Her finger slid the cursor over the trackpad until it hovered above the first one. She clicked it open.

“Attention passengers, we will now begin pre-boarding for Flight 5288 from Richmond to Dallas Fort Worth.”

She glanced at the wall of text. “Dear Donna. I never said I’m sorry…” 

As she read on, hearing his voice in her head, she found the screen starting to blur, and it took her a moment to realize it was her eyes filling with tears. She blinked them away, and continued. It was all too much to absorb. Words she’d always yearned to hear from him. Amazing. Brilliant. Invaluable. His best friend. 

She choked back a sob, causing the woman sitting next to her to turn to her, offering her a kleenex. “Are you all right, sweetie?”

Donna took the tissue and gave a sad smile, “Thank you. You know, I think I may be better than I have been in a long, long time.”

“That’s good, dear. A happy cry once in a while is good for your soul.” The woman smiled, “But don’t go and miss your flight over it.”

Donna looked up and noticed that the area was nearly empty. “Thank you,” she said, and shut her laptop, stashed it in her bag and went to board. Will had sprung for Business class for her, and she quickly found her seat. She stowed her bag under the seat in front of her, longing to re-read that first e-mail, and her curiosity burning about the other three. He’d written the first after being stuck for a day, and he was thinking of her. He missed her.

It was still Josh, though. The next one might have him back being the jackass he so often could be. The unsubtle digs at the Vice President showed that. But it was also the nicest thing he - or anyone else, really - had said to her since an inscription in a book on skiing by Heinrich Beckengruber. She sat as patiently as she could as the flight attendants went through the safety drill, and for the pilot to send them hurtling down the runway and into the air.

She had ached to think of him alone and stranded, and this gave a new, terrible perspective to what she’d envisioned.

The plane ascended into the still darkened sky and she found her stomach churning again in anticipation as her eyes locked on the laptop bag on the floor. Four e-mails, just one of which had broken down every wall she’d built up since the day she left. 

As soon as the flight attendant announced they had reached cruising altitude Donna lurched forward to grab her laptop. She waited impatiently for it to boot up and rushed to log in. It took her four attempts, and she cursed the complicated password that she’d chosen the previous week. Finally she was able to open the second message. 

She was smiling at the beginning where Josh complained of boredom, and that the granola bars she’d left him had been helpful in his time of need, but then she read the next passage and her face fell. He thought she hated him. Yes, things had been uncomfortable since she left and yes she had even tried hating him to help justify leaving, but in the end she couldn’t. She couldn’t ever hate him. And the idea that he was there, worrying he might not be rescued in time, and his thoughts turning to her again and again and … thinking she hated him.

It was all too much.

He asked how the hell they’d gotten into that position, and that was the crux of everything. They’d fallen apart because they’d been dancing around this thing between them for too long and she couldn’t do it anymore, not after Gaza. She didn’t blame him when he didn’t notice her struggling when she came back; she deliberately hid it from him, and he was dealing with Leo’s heart attack and C.J. being promoted over him along with the usual crises. Yes, she’d noticed his breakdown, but assisting him was quite literally her job, her singular focus, whereas he had a dozen things on which to concentrate on a light day. And she hated the idea that sleepless night in Iowa he was fighting off an attack across the hall, when if he’d just knocked - God, she’d wanted him to knock - they could have talked about it, and she could have told him he wasn’t responsible. Weeks of heartache could have been saved.

Maybe her struggles made it easier to leave, but to a lesser degree than her not being willing to return to the status quo. He could just told her he loved her in Germany, and she would’ve sent Colin away instead. But he hadn’t. She returned, he gave her a pen, told her he didn’t want to take things for granted, but nothing changed. And she realized that’s what C.J. was trying to tell her that night of the Correspondent’s Dinner, that nothing would ever change for her while she was there in that office. So as it had in Germany when he’d walked back from that precipice, it all became too painful and one of them had to leave.

She made a mental note to call Josh’s mother when she landed. It moved her to think that if something had happened to him he wanted her to stay in touch with his mom - as if she wouldn’t have needed Hannah Lyman as much as she would need Donna. The mention of the evening at White Sands, one of the first times he’d shown her how far he’d go for her, driving three and a half hours to and from Albuquerque just so she could see the world’s largest gypsum dune field on a full moon, caused a warm memory to shine through the tears. 

She shuddered and tried to compose herself. Drink service was coming through and she got a cup of coffee, so she closed the computer for a few minutes before diving into the next of Josh’s e-mails.

She sipped her coffee, and reminded herself that Josh was fine and recovering in a rural Nevada hospital, and that she could go see him for herself in a matter of hours. She knew for certain now that none of the pain and distance that had developed since December was irreparable, and indeed his words showed her that he felt as terrible about their estrangement as she.

She returned the now empty coffee cup to the flight attendant, took a long steadying breath and returned to her reading.

He’d brought up the “also dead, Diane Moss” comment. His ability to remember little off-handed comments like that always took her by surprise. He had always listened to her. That line from the first e-mail, how talking things out with her made him better at his job, he’d meant that. Had shown it. And she had to admit that those talks had expanded her perspective and honed her own instincts as well, and was a leading reason she’d done so well working with Will.

And then she got to the third paragraph. She had to read it twice. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting that she run the Santos campaign. She knew he had nothing but scorn for the Vice President, so maybe he was trying to sabotage it? But he could have asked her to get Will to do it. That would have been crippling to Russell, just as Josh’s defection had hurt Hoynes back in 1998. But Josh was asking her to do it, saying she could do it. And was willing to guilt his best friend - his other best friend, she corrected herself with a smile, thinking of the first e-mail - into helping her. Something Sam had said - that Josh had told him she might call - was recontextualized. He was completely serious about this.

She read the lines about Russell outing Ellie Bartlet, and recalled just how angry the President had been when it had happened. If true, and if Russell and Will had hidden it, that was the sort of thing that could bring the full fury of President Bartlet down on them, probably enough to sink the campaign. If the Vice President had apologized immediately, maybe it could’ve blown over - accidents happen, and it had apparently been Mrs. Russell who leaked the data. But hiding it made them complicit. She found herself strategizing how they could spin it - an innocent mistake by the Governor’s wife, Will’s inexperience and unfamiliarity with the President’s dictates regarding his family causing him to offer bad advice to the Vice President. Will would likely have to step down as campaign director as the scapegoat.

She stopped herself. What the hell was she thinking? Will was this campaign, he couldn’t leave. She owed so much to him, and it shocked her that she could think this way, like she had no loyalty at all. Her blood ran cold at that thought.

She read on. Josh missed her, couldn’t stop thinking of her. He thought she was one of the best, smartest, most noble people he knew. He really thought she could replace him and run Congressman Santos’s campaign. It was absurd, of course, and there was no way she’d have done it, but his confidence and faith in her left her reeling. She’d always valued his opinion of her, but she had no idea he held her in this high regard 

One more, she thought. One more knife to her gut. 

She marshalled her strength and clicked it open. Shorter than the others, it was just him thanking her. Over and over again. And the line near the end - “and even if it’s all gone to hell, and this is the end of my story, I want you to know how grateful I was for having you in my life. You were by far the best part of my best years” - simultaneously broke her heart and melted it. 

He did love her. She knew that now, was finally sure of it. 

And, as she sat there, tears streaking down her face, she knew she loved him too.

She had to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, gratitude to kcat1971. this one got a little longer than normal.


	10. Sending My Heart to a Dear Friend and Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna comes to visit Josh in the hospital.

Donna read through the rest of her mail. The revelations of those four messages from Josh - five when you included that unbelievable, magical text from yesterday- had her flying apart with excitement, and since she couldn’t make the plane get to Dallas any faster, she did work. She read the ones from Will first, taking notes and formulating a response in a separate Word document. She prioritized the media requests and jotted down notes for the Communications team to follow up on those.

She went over a document of the major players she would be talking to in Nevada. She wrote replies for everything that needed her input in her drafts folder, so when the time came, she’d be able to send them quickly. She didn’t want anything hanging over her when she made the trip to Winnemucca.

She found quickly that her heart wasn’t in it, so she relied on her professionalism to get her through. She’d known the Vice President wasn’t an ideal candidate. She was well aware of the contempt in which Josh and Toby - and C.J., for that matter - held him. And she knew his ambition exceeded his talent. But she didn’t want the efforts of two terms to be wiped away, and that’s what would happen if a Republican won the White House. That meant getting Bob Russell elected, didn’t it? Hoynes was damaged goods, and she never felt comfortable around him. And even with victories in Arizona and New Mexico, Santos was a pipe dream. Josh had tried to argue that President Bartlet had been the same, but he had an all-star team behind him. Leo running things. Sam & Toby handling the message and C.J. the press. And Josh was everywhere as Senior Political Director. Congressman Santos had Josh, a couple aides from his office, and that was about it.

Josh’s admonition to work for the “real thing” stung, though. Bob Russell was a ploy by Speaker Haffley to sabotage the Democratic chances, and while he wasn’t incompetent, it was fairly clear that he would never be mistaken for a great or subtle thinker. He did listen to Will’s advice, but he seldom if ever disagreed with it, calling to mind Toby’s words about Rob Ritchie in the last campaign.

So she was having - or at least allowing herself to acknowledge that she had - doubts about working for Russell. He still remained the most viable, most electable of the options. And if Josh pulled out a miracle, she was confident she could prevail on him to hire her, just as Will had told her his plans to get Josh on board after Santos dropped out. Of course, she had concerns that he might once again see them working together as a barrier to them being together.

This was dangerous thinking. If she weren’t miles in the air she would go out, turn around, curse and spit. She may have loved him for years, and she was beginning to accept that he’d likely loved her just as long, there was something star-crossed about them, as if fate, having thrown them together back in February of 1998, now seemed hell bent on keeping them apart.

Donna pulled her cell phone out as soon as they’d landed in Dallas. She dialed her voicemail first out of habit. There was a campaign status update from Will, along with a panicked request from one of the aides in the communications department that she returned immediately, talking the nervous staffer where to find a file with the Vice President’s speech on the high speed internet grant program. When she got back into her messages, there was another call from Will going over the meeting schedule in Carson City, and a third from him reiterating that it was best that she not mention to anyone if she was going to visit Josh. There was a call from Sam, who sounded tired but somehow amused, telling her that Josh was getting irritable. She didn’t recognize the number for the last one, but the area code - 775 - matched Nevada, so she decided it was okay to listen.

“Er, hi. It’s me. Um. Listen, Sam has my cell phone and he’s being completely unreasonable right now and he’s taking advantage of my weakened condition, so I had to call from my room phone while he’s in the bathroom. Hospital’s probably gonna charge me an arm and a leg on the bill for this. Anyway, I know you probably got a text from me, if you don’t have my number blocked. If you do, I swear I’m not trying to get around that. God, this is stupid. Look, I ... I do care about you and I’m sure I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry for that and for everything. So it’s probably best if you just forget the text. Crap, Sam’s coming back, I gotta go.”

She laughed softly to herself. Like she could ever forget that text. She was right; he was trying to walk it back, but he didn’t actually deny the sentiment. She smiled, and considered the benefit of calling him back against just showing up, and decided it was probably best to catch him off guard, so he didn't have time to get stuck in his own head and sabotage things before they could begin. She'd long suspected that the tragedies visited on him made him afraid to let himself just be happy.

She did have a call to make, and dialed it now. “Hi, Mrs. Lyman? This is Donna… Donna Moss. I just wanted to call to make sure you are doing all right… no, I haven’t talked to him yet, but I’m planning to go visit him today… Sam is there right now, watching out for him… thank you, ma’am… Sorry. Thank you, Hannah. I’ll be sure to tell him to call… Talk to you soon.”

\- - - - -

“Congressman…” Josh was saying into the phone. “I understand, but the answer is still no. You have to get on a plane and get back to the campaign… Ronna told me that Ned’s prognosis is good but he’s gonna be here another couple days and we can’t waste the momentum from winning two states yesterday.”

He hadn’t been over to see Ned. He was scared to. It was his fault that Ned walked off, his fault that he’d gotten hurt. The litany of Ned’s injuries made him wince with sympathy. The cracked skull and the resulting concussion, the broken arm and cracked ribs. He glanced at the cast on his right hand and knew how easy he'd had it in comparison. However thankful he was that the man was expected to make a full recovery, he knew he couldn’t face him just yet.

Sam watched his friend argue with his candidate and smiled. He missed the thrill and even the chaos of the campaign, but not the long hours, the constant travel, and definitely not the compromises that had to be made to get someone elected.

“We need you in Virginia, Congressman. There are 83 delegates up for grabs there, that’s more than Arizona and New Mexico combined. We have a window here, we’ve got positive press, but if we don’t capitalize on it, it’ll all be for nothing.”

Sam watched Josh’s heart rate begin to spike on the vital signs monitor next to his bed. His smile disappeared and he moved quickly to snatch the phone from his friend’s hand. “Good morning, Congressman, Sam Seaborn, here. I realize you want to stay and look after your people, but Josh is right - you need to get out there. I’ll be staying here with Josh, and when he gets released, we’ll keep the war room running here and look after Mr. Carlson until he’s ready to come home.”

This seemed to mollify Santos. In some ways, his devotion to his people reminded Sam of their first campaign, the night they’d won the Illinois primary when Josh had to tell then Governor Bartlet to go back to the hotel and give a speech instead of coming to Connecticut with him. Santos seemed more centrist than the President, certainly, but he’d shown savvy in getting that Healthcare bill passed.

Over the next several hours, Sam and Josh talked about the campaign, the baseball season, and reminisced about their time in the White House, although Sam noticed Josh deliberately avoided memories tied to Donna, all the while Sam was receiving updates about her progress.

They had just brought in Josh’s dinner when Sam saw the text she had made it to Winnemucca. “Well, as much fun as it would be to watch you eat, I’m going to grab something from the cafeteria.”

Josh looked disconsolately at the tray in front of him. “C’mon,” he whined. “I’m getting discharged in, like, two hours. Let’s go get a real meal. There’s gotta be a place to get a decent steak somewhere in this town, right?”

“There is no one on Earth who would call what you have them do to a steak ‘decent’” came a wry voice from the door. Donna leaned against the frame, holding herself protectively.

Josh’s eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped.

“Hey,” she said, more softly. “I was in the state, wrangling for the caucus. Figured I’d stop by and visit an old friend who’s been ill.”

“And with that,” Sam said, barely concealing a grin, “I’m going to avail myself of their salad bar. Play nice, children.”

Sam gave Donna a hug and a kiss on the cheek before making the quickest exit he could. Donna remained in the doorway, waiting for some sign from Josh that her presence was welcome, while he sat in his bed, staring at her.

“You’re here.” It was said in a non-committal tone. She could see him try to process everything. She began to worry that she should have called first and given him a chance to prepare. But dammit, he had started something here, something they both desired, and while she was willing to give him some space, this was a conversation they desperately needed.

“It would appear so,” she said. He loves you, she reminded herself. He loves you and he’s scared because you hurt him by leaving. “Do you… do you want me here?”

He blinked. He looked up at her with pained eyes, and she could see him reach for humor to deflect the emotion. “Are you going to yell at me?”

“A bit,” she said, giving her warmest smile. “You scared me, and no one likes being scared.”

“I scared you?”

She could see him rummaging through his memories for recent screw ups. “By disappearing, you idiot,” she reminded him, keeping her smile so he didn’t mistake her intentions. “You had us all worried.”

“Tell me about it. My mother’s already called twice to give me hell about it. She told me she’s making me a travel version of the Emergency Box, so now I’ve gotta drag that around with me through airports.”

The infamous emergency box. She remembered him telling the students from Presidential Classroom about it. He probably didn’t know that his mother would often call and ask for Donna to make sure the water and batteries were replaced periodically, or to add some reading material she thought he might like. If he’d ever looked, he might have noticed that there was even a novel or two she’d always wanted to get to, and figured that there was a decent chance they’d have gotten stranded together. Her lips quirked a little as she recalled that in her fantasies about being stranded with him, there wasn’t a whole lot of reading involved.

“‘Y’know,” he continued. “I didn’t think about it when I was stranded, but Senator Stackhouse once told me how the son of a friend, when he got his pilot's license, was less worried about crashing his plane than he was getting stranded in the desert.”

“Why did you tell me that? Are you planning on getting in a plane crash now to compare?”

Josh shrugged. “I just thought it was funny, that’s all.”

“No, not particularly,” she said, trying to maintain a congenial tone. “So, that was probably your longest vacation in years. Did you at least get some sleep?”

“Some. As a vacation destination, the Honda Civic doesn’t have a lot to recommend it. One star. Won’t be coming back.”

“Good,” Donna said. She paused. He tried a joke, but he still was holding himself stiffly. “What have the doctors told you?”

“That I probably pulled a muscle in my back, and managed to fracture the fifth metacarpal in my right hand. Nothing big.”

“Dehydration?” she asked.

“They took care of that,” he replied, indicating the bag suspended next to the bed. “Once I can take a - er, have a bowel movement, they pretty much said I can go.”

“Is your mother flying in?”

“For this?” he said dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Sam said he’d stick around until we can spring Ned, then I can get back to work.”

“Josh, you need to take care of yourself.”

“I said I’ll be fine,” he snapped. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered something. “What, did Will send you here to convince me to take a couple days off while he tries to kill off the Congressman’s campaign?”

Donna’s own temper flared. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Like hell,” Josh replied. “He’s used you against me before.”

“And I asked him not to do it again,” she said, frustrated. “I’m here because I want to be. I needed to see that you were okay.”

“And I am,” he said. His fidgeting belied the statement, though. “I appreciate you coming, I do, but as I said, I’m fi-”

“Josh, they didn’t have a list of any of your medications!” Donna interrupted him, her voice ringing with concern. “I had to let Sam know, and hope your prescriptions hadn't changed in the last few months!”

“They haven’t,” he said dismissively.

“Only because you haven’t been to the doctor!” Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and she clenched her fists to regain her composure.

“It’s really nothing you need to worry about,” he said, his tone flat and guarded, and his eyes dropping away from her and focusing on the plate in front of him. He pushed some mashed potatoes around awkwardly with the fork in his left hand. “And anyway, I’m fine now. Thank you for your concern.”

“Josh…”

“Donna, if this is about the text…”

Here it comes, she thought. The backpedal. The deflection. She realized that he didn’t know that she’d read all those heartfelt words. It would be a betrayal of trust not to tell him, and if she hoped to restore their friendship, she knew she had to confess. “It’s not about the text. Well,” she corrected herself, “it’s a little about the text. It’s more about the e-mails.”

“The e-mails?” he asked. His face darkened, and he looked off in the direction Sam had left. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you aren’t,” she said. “I don’t think you could. For starters, he actually has been taking care of himself.”

“You weren’t supposed to see those. Not unless I…” His voice trailed off when he saw her face grow serious.

“Unless you were dead?” Her voice broke with emotion, but she recovered quickly, responding dryly, “You’ll have to forgive me if I prefer things this way.”

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me!” he retorted. “About this, I mean.” he added, and she could see him retreat to the same place of self-loathing that she’d seen in his messages. “If you read them, you know I finally figured out why you hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said, the anger ebbing away. She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “I never did.”

“You did! You were suffering and I ignored you and you left me! And I can’t even be mad about it because it was all my fault!”

She saw his eyes shine with unshed tears and she walked over to the bed, sitting down. She realized they were at another precipice, and something told her this might be the last time. If they stopped now, if they walked away one more time, he’d never allow himself to be this vulnerable ever again. “I did leave, yes. And I had to. I had to do more than you could offer me. But I don’t blame you for that.”

Josh had tensed up when she’d approached, and she felt him shrink from her, as if he was taking shelter behind his dinner tray.

“Josh,” she repeated, softly. “Talk to me, please.”

“Why did you come here?” he asked, an edge to his voice..

“Because.” She swallowed, took a deep breath and met his gaze. She saw the embarrassment in those soulful brown eyes, his shame that he’d bared his heart to her in those e-mails. She’d surprised him, and now he felt exposed and cornered and was doing his best to defend himself. Her only recourse was the truth, so as simply and as honestly as she could, she spoke. “Because, I love you too.”

For an overly long moment, it felt like the world stopped. Josh stared at her, and she quite deliberately stared back, a challenge in her eyes.

“No. You don’t. You can’t,” he insisted, “You just pity your old boss ‘cause he almost died and sent you that stupid text.”

“Josh…” she spoke quietly.

She reached for his hand to convince him of her sincerity, but he jerked it away. “You can’t love me! You left me! You broke my heart!”

“No. That's not what's going to happen right now. You don’t get to play the poor, suffering, unrequited love card here. You’ve never been alone in this,” she said, a fierce edge to her voice. She paused, the side of her mouth crooking upwards in a wistful version of a smile.. “Don’t you get it, Josh? I had to leave _because_ I loved you! And it was my breaking my heart to stay, to be that close to you and know that nothing was ever going to happen...”

He stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I don’t blame you,” she continued. “C.J. said… that night of the White House Correspondents Dinner… C.J. pointed out that I chose to stay in that job, because of how I felt about you. And I thought I could stay there, loving you from ten steps away, until you finally saw me.”

“I saw-”

“No, Josh, you didn’t. Aside from very brief moments like Inauguration Night or … or in Germany, you could never let yourself.”

“You were my assistant,” he said, mechanically.

“Come on now, if I was going to report you for harassment - if all the touches and the banter were at all unwelcome - I would have done that on the first campaign. You know I was a willing participant.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “You were my _assistant!_ ”

“So, what, that means I wasn’t good enough for you?” she asked, bitterly. “I wasn’t up to your ‘power dater’ standards?”

“It’s not - that’s not it! Of course it's not that!” Josh countered. “God, Donna, do you know what happens to women in D.C. who people think slept their way to a job? Do you think I would _ever_ let that happen to you?”

“People thought we were sleeping together anyway!” she exclaimed. “If I had to deal with all the accusatory looks and snide whispers, at least I should’ve gotten the benefits!”

He looked struck by her words. “Benefits? I told you, I really did give you all the responsibilities I could. If you wanted to advance, you would’ve had to go to Toby, or do what you did and leave the West Wing.”

Donna watched his confusion and realized that he’d completely missed her point. “The SEX, Josh!”  She nearly lost herself in a fit of giggles. “You can be such an idiot sometimes. If people thought we were sleeping together, it would’ve been nice to, you know, actually be having the sex.”

“The sex?” He had the courtesy to blush. “With me?”

“No, the President,” she said, with an eye roll and dripping sarcasm. She then smiled ruefully, and rose from the bed. “Of course you. I just told you I loved you, I told you I stayed working for you for years hoping you would someday feel the same. I’ve been in love with you for years, Josh. I stopped lying to myself when you were shot, and I spent the subsequent years trying to hide how much I cared. I relished every moment, every touch. I looked forward to those long nights in your office, sharing meals and conversation. I could almost pretend we were in a relationship. I mean, we were practically married in every way except I couldn’t go home with you and be with you the way I wanted to.”

Josh was stammering, trying to catch up. “You dated…”

“Yes, I dated. I didn’t think you would ever come around, and I think if you ask Congressman Tandy, he'd say that wouldn’t have stopped you if you were truly interested in me.” She stepped closer to him, and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Josh, I dated other people because I couldn’t have you.”

Josh swallowed. “We couldn’t. You were my assistant.”

“So you said. But you know what?”

He looked up at her, and she could see the comprehension beginning to dawn on his face. “What?” he asked, with the slightest hint of a smirk.

“I’m not your assistant anymore.”

And she leaned down and kissed him, gently on his lips.

She pulled back, searching his eyes for a response. There was surprise, and curiosity, and underneath she saw the embers of passion she always suspected were there. His good hand snuck up to her cheek, guiding her back down as he leaned forward and kissed her fiercely.

Ten minutes later Sam returned to find Donna sitting in a chair next to Josh holding his hand. They were arguing, but both were grinning like fools as they did. He left quietly to tell the nurse that Josh would need a little more time.

“Okay, so I love you and you love me,” Josh said, his face showing amazement at his own words. “We’re still on competing presidential campaigns, and you know there’s…”

“‘Nothing you take more seriously’,” she quoted.

“Yeah,” he said. “So we still can’t do the work we need to and try to have a relationship at the same time.”

“Why not? Why can’t we do both?” Donna said, her face beaming with a long cherished memory. “I know you are going to do your best, and I’m going to do mine, and hopefully the best candidate...”

“Congressman Santos…” Josh insisted.

“The _best_ candidate wins,” she reiterated. “And then we work together to get that person elected in November.”

“Donna, I can’t work for Russell,” he said. “I meant it, I'm done working for someone who isn't the real thing.”

“Then you’ll work to get us the House and Senate back and it’s even easier for us.”

“We’ll never see each other,” Josh whined, and Donna was surprised to find how much she missed that, especially since she knew he was upset because he would miss her.

“We couldn’t avoid one another when we thought we hated each other,” she assured him. “It’s going to be a lot easier now that we know the opposite is true. And we’ll talk.”

“Every day?”

“Every day. I promise.”

“I do love you,” Josh said as he leaned up to capture her lips again.

“And I love you too,” Donna smiled. “You were wrong about one thing, though.”

“Oh?” he asked. “What’s that?”

“You said that I was the best part of the best years of your life and that’s just not so.” Josh began to protest and Donna kissed him to circumvent that. “I’m going to make it my mission to ensure your best years are yet to come, and I’m hoping to be the best part of those too.”

“My dearest Donnatella,” Josh smiled. “I don’t see how you could be anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay. I've been trying to give the readers the payoff they deserve along with a detour for a local convention. I am forever indebted to kcat1971 who broke me out of writer's block and I am including as a co-creator to this chapter for their contributions. I might still be banging my head against the computer otherwise.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later at Santos Campaign Headquarters.

Ronna knocked on the door of the conference room. “Josh? You’ve got another meeting.”

He looked frustrated. He had been going over the campaign budget for three hours with Sam, and he was supposed to meet Donna for dinner forty five minutes ago. “Can you push it? I’m late for a thing.”

“I think you’ll want to take this one.” He looked up from the expenditure report, saw the grin on Sam’s face and turned to see, peeking out behind Ronna, the golden hair and shy smile of Donna Moss. She gave a little wave.

He looked at his friend, “I gotta…”

“Yeah.”

“But we’ve got the money for this?” he asked.

“I’ll find it,” Sam said. “Go, take your meeting.”

Josh was out of his seat and crossing the room before Sam finished his sentence.

They walked side by side to his office. He longed to kiss her, to touch her, to put his hand in the small of her back like old times, but he fought the urge. It had barely been a week since the Revelation, as he had come to think of it, and they were still hashing out how to navigate their relationship against the race for the nomination.

“Cliff and the Congressman did a great job on the Stem Cell bill,” she began as she took a seat across from him.

“Yeah, and the press loved us for it. Please send our thanks to the Vice President for the use of his office,” he said, taking in the sight of her and trying not to let it distract him. “Speaking of that, did Will send you over to go over something? The Congressman isn’t going to compromise on the debate format.”

“Josh, I resigned from the Vice President’s campaign today.”

He stared at her. “You did what?”

“I was there, helping with the plan, hiding Democratic members of Congress in the office,” she explained. “I got to talk to Congressman Santos. I watched him lead them. I watched him talk for hours, debating the merits of the bill. You were right.”

The briefest flicker of a smug smile crossed Josh’s face.

“He’s the real thing, Josh. And I didn’t have to drive eighteen hours to find him this time.”

“So you quit Bingo Bob?”

“Josh, he’s still the Vice President,” she protested.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, somewhat dismissively. His expression turned regretful. “I’m sorry. I never could get past Haffley getting that one over on us. How’d Will take it?”

Donna grimaced a little. “He was… mostly... understanding. He said he had a feeling after Nevada. I tried to explain how I intended to keep working for him, but that Congressman Santos had really won me over. I offered to stay for a couple weeks to train a replacement…”

There was only the slightest wince from Josh at that.

“...but he agreed it was probably best to make an immediate break.”

“So,” Josh said, “you’re here.”

“Yes,” she said, smoothing her skirt. She felt the butterflies intensify in her stomach, and felt silly for it. This was Josh. They’d mended their friendship and so much more than she ever dared dream for herself. “I feel I’ve grown a lot in the two months since we last worked together. I was able to leverage the things I learned in my time at the White House to adapt and thrive in a number of situations I encountered in the Russell campaign. I believe I can bring that talent to help make Congressman Santos not only the Democratic nominee, but President. And I understand that you could use a deputy.”

Josh was watching her, carefully listening to her pitch, and then he said, softly, “Donna, I can’t hire you.”

She was stunned. Things had been going so well. “I don’t understand. Is it… do you think we can’t work together and be together?”

“Well, that would be a good reason that I couldn’t give you a job, yes,” he admitted, looking thoughtful. “I told you I would never put you in the position where people had cause to think you got anywhere except by your talent. But it’s not the reason.”

“You don’t think I’m up to the job?” A million insecurities flooded her, thoughts that he’d been lying when he’d written about how good she was. She felt her cheeks start to flush with humiliation. 

“God, Donna, you should know that’s not the case!” He locked eyes with her, making sure she saw his sincerity. “Even if I hadn’t seen you handle everything I threw your way for eight years, your work on the Russell campaign would be proof of your skills.”

“Then why can’t you hire me?” she exclaimed.

Josh just looked at her, his expression inscrutable. Then he started to laugh. Donna looked back at him, offering a confused half smile, hoping he’d let her in on the joke.

“I can’t hire you,” he repeated, still laughing, much to her consternation. He had a stupid grin on his face as he reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a blue folder. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “You see, Donna, I can’t hire you because the job was yours the moment you walked into the office. Congressman’s orders.”

He passed the folder over to her. Inside was a “Santos for America” work contract for the position of Deputy Campaign Manager, with her name on it.

She read it carefully. “When? How?” 

“This was all you,” Josh assured her. “It seems that the Congressman was impressed by the conversation in the Vice President’s office, as well as your work on the campaign. He came to me and said that if you ever changed your mind and wanted to work for the campaign, that I was to - and I’m quoting here - ‘get over yourself and give her a damn job.’ I told him that I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to do that, but if that was his decision, we’d make it happen.”

“All me, huh?” she said as she continued to review the document.

“Well, Sam did chime in as a reference,” Josh clarified. “And he may have mentioned that I asked you to take over for me when I was dying in the Nevada desert.”

“Pretty cocky of you to assume I’d want a job here,” she said.

“Not cocky. Hopeful.”

“Overconfident. Borderline hubristic,” she countered. “Basing an entire campaign strategy on me deciding that your candidate was worthy.”

“Who’s being cocky now?” Josh asked.

“Let’s say I’ve learned my worth,” she said warmly, rising to her feet.. “A former boss of mine wrote me a glowing review, and who am I to argue with his years of experience?” 

Josh beamed at her as she walked around the desk to face him. “That never stopped you before.”

“I try never to disagree with you when you’re right,” she said, leaning against the desk. She gave Josh a very direct look. “Besides, confidence is very sexy, don’t you think?”

Josh gulped audibly, and his eyes went to the open blind to the window on his office door.

Donna laughed, saying, “And _that_ is for making me think you were rejecting me.”

He laughed too. “Going out with you is going to be an adventure, isn’t it?”

“And you’re going to love every minute of it.”

Josh took her hands, a move made somewhat awkward by the soft cast on his right. “I already do.”

She looked down and their joined hands, and her face grew serious. “If I take this job, we’re going to need a set of rules.”

Josh nodded ruefully, running his thumb against the back of her hand. “This is probably out.”

“Yeah,” she said. “We have to be professional, at least during work hours.”

“No flirting in meetings.”

“No closed door lunches during work hours.”

“No pet names.”

“No kissing.”

“Well, that won’t work,” Josh said, “I can’t be held responsible for how I react when we win the nomination.”

Donna considered this. Getting caught up in Josh’s exuberance during celebrations had been one of the highlights of her life. “How about a cheek kiss during celebrations.”

“I think I have to insist on lips.”

“Close mouthed,” she insisted.

“Fine,” he pouted. “This is going to be difficult, you know. As I recall, our relationship has never been something to which ‘professional’ could be easily ascribed. Not without heavy sarcasm.”

“Well, if nothing else it’ll give you incentive to leave the office at night.” Donna said. “So, this isn’t a joke? I really have a job here?”

“Just as soon as you sign the contract,” Josh assured her.

“And once I sign it, the new Rules are in play?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and held up a pen.

Donna stood up, walked over to the door, locked it and closed the blinds before returning to Josh and sitting down on his lap. She took the pen from his hand and placed it back on the desk.

She kissed him, leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I think I can wait ‘til tomorrow to sign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This assumes the events of "A Good Day" still take place. You can assume Cliff's offer for dinner was gracefully declined.
> 
> Thank you all for coming on this journey with me, and again especially to kcat1971. This has been by far my most well regarded West Wing story, and I am so grateful for the outpouring of support and encouragement along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song “Letters” by Enter the Haggis, which was in turn inspired by a real life story of March 29, 2012 story of a man who was stranded in the Nevada desert for 10 days, and ended up writing letters to his wife each day. I have also been inspired by “Crash Landing” by lcf328 on fanfiction dot net.


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